


Fire-Touched Feathers

by Misty Shadowbrook (Dagger_Stiletto)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Creature Inheritance, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Regulus Black Lives, Veela Harry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-16
Updated: 2018-01-31
Packaged: 2018-03-23 07:28:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 22,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3759676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dagger_Stiletto/pseuds/Misty%20Shadowbrook
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry has just come into his Veela inheritance, but it has some hidden secrets. To make matters worse, he is kidnapped and realizes his mate is one of the culprits. New acquaintances are made during the rescue, and the planned course of things make a violent detour as Harry realizes his full potential and deals with the after effects of his time in captivity.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is taking way too much of my brain power. This will be the first multi-chapter fic I post on here, and I'm not at all confident about the success of it. It's considerably darker than Baby Drarry, that's for sure. I had a hard time thinking up a title for it, and I also spent way too long deciding with whom to pair Harry. I considered pairing him with Lucius Malfoy, Draco Malfoy, and even thought up a scene where Harry's inheritance destroyed the dark magic in Voldemort, turning him back into Tom, and then pairing them together.
> 
> Ultimately, I think I'll stick with making this a Drarry fic.
> 
> Again, this is un-betaed. I may or may not be posting this on Tumblr. 
> 
> Let me know what you think. I'm already in the process of finishing the second chapter.

_The cell was dark and damp._ It stank of despair and pain and piss, and it seemed to echo with the screams of the tormented and the damned, even though it was designed to keep sound out as well as in. It was furthermore designed to severely cripple the occupants' magic, reducing the likelihood of attempted and successful escapes. Pained wheezes reverberated off the stone walls, cutting the immense silence among the prefabricated screams, agony evident in every breath.

The cell's sole occupant hung against the back wall, dangling half a meter from the floor, hobbled in more ways than one. Blood seeped from him, from the whiplashes marking his thighs and torso; from the four stakes driven through each of his once glorious wings, the only things holding him suspended; and from the corner of his mouth, where it had bubbled up during a particularly severe encounter and never been cleaned away. His legs dangled uselessly, ankles shattered, a few toes broken, one kneecap dislocated, and possibly a few more breaks in the rest of the legs. Chunks of hair were missing from his head, his scalp mottled with scratches and bloody patches from where it had been ripped out; his usual accidental magic that made his hair grow back extraordinarily fast rerouted to keeping him alive, so it remained patchy and ugly.

Several months ago, just before the end of the school term, Harry Potter had come into a magical creature inheritance that had been long since believed buried in the Evans' lineage, proving that they were not Muggle, but squibs at the very least. Veela, mixed with something as of yet unknown, which brought touches of fiery color to those gorgeous silvery-white wings, like an albino phoenix.

He had been unmated, which relieved yet terrified him. Voldemort wasn't dead yet. It was hard to tell who was his mate, what side they were on, what gender they were, what age, and whether or not they could be used against him or become his greatest strength. However, by Hermione's calculations, it was likely he wouldn't come into his full creature power until he found the one for whom he was meant. 

And of course only Hermione and the Weasleys knew. He hadn't even told Dumbledore or his godfather yet. He knew he could trust Hermione and the Weasleys implicitly, as they were the family he always wanted and was cherished by them just as preciously.

Until a week ago, they were the only ones who knew.

He'd been getting the paper for the Dursleys, barely awake at 7am. He had to go all the way to the sidewalk adjacent to the road, as the paperboy had been too lazy to even toss it into the yard. Apparently, no one had thought to extend the blood wards that were just so damn important for him to live here with these horrid, magic-hating Muggles, to the bloody _sidewalk_. Death Eaters swarmed his pajama-clad form as he bent to pick up the paper, and they Disapparated from the Muggle street. Harry hadn't even the time to scream.

He'd attempted to fight, but he had a limited amount of wandless spells at his disposal, and his wand remained in his room at the Dursleys'. So then he attempted an escape, only to be hit with the sudden and undeniable realization that his mate was there in the room with him; it was like fire burning his flesh and his lungs, dancing across his hair and clouding over his eyes. His mate was one of the cloaked figures attempting to subdue him, and he could be hurt...

And his wings burst from his back, shredding his shirt, spreading out to their full span of three-and-a-half meters.

The Death Eaters' goals then changed to capturing the Veela and dragging his trussed-up form to their Lord. Voldemort was so delighted at the Potter boy's capture that he _Crucio_ 'd Harry several times before regaining his composure. Rather than kill Harry outright, the once-dead Dark Lord decided to torment and experiment on the Boy Wonder until he was satisfied. Then he'd kill the boy before he was broken completely, because it was no fun killing a supposed equal when they couldn't fight back.

They attempted to humiliate the fledgling Veela by placing him in a giant, gold-gilded birdcage in the "throne" room. Harry's magic burst out in a fit of anger that caused it to explode, and he felt vindicated, especially when two Death Eaters were impaled and killed, even though it meant he was put in stronger bonds and confinement.

Now Harry was in this dreadful, stinking cell. At first they'd left him unbound, coming in to beat him and take his blood for testing; one of them let slip that Voldemort was once again researching methods to gain immortality now that three of his Horcruxes had been destroyed--he apparently didn't know of the one Harry had had and destroyed when he went through his first transformation, which made it four destroyed. His wings, which refused to fold with the presence of his unknown mate so close, proved to be too troublesome for them to handle, often clubbing the Death Eaters, flapping, and shooting hardened, metal-like projectile feathers in defense. So they pinned his wings to the wall with iron pegs, like an insect collector did to butterflies.

Unable to move, his magic lashed out. So they warded the cell, so magic couldn't be used within. They adjusted their abuse from nonlethal curses and hexes to physical beatings with whips, floggers, canes, and switches. 

So far that he could tell, with his far-reaching senses cut short, the only ones that didn't come to visit him were Peter Pettigrew, the Malfoys, Snape, and Voldemort himself. But on the upside--mostly--his mate hadn't been one of the ones to come and torture him.

Harry shuddered as a few of his rotting feathers fluttered to the floor. He wondered if those would be the next things harvested from him. A low-pitched whine emitted from his parched throat as his thin arms reached out toward the heavy door six meters away. His mate was out there, and he _needed_ his mate. The longer he went without his mate, now that he had come in contact with him, the sooner and more agonizingly he would die.

At this rate, Voldemort wouldn't get what he thought was his right to take.

Harry could only be grateful that a beaten and broken slave with a missing eye was sent to provide him with bread and a bit of fruit once a day, and water thrice. That same slave used a hose to spray Harry's wastes out of the room into the hall to be banished and wiped his thighs down with a cloth to afford him some semblance of cleanliness. The resulting humiliation burned him like hot coals to his dwindling pride.

His thin arms weakly wave in the air, wishing they could weave a spell that would free him. They dropped once most of his physical energy was expended. Exhausted emerald eyes, glazed over with the constant agony rolling through him, drifted almost completely shut. Despair was quickly snuffing out his hope, his spirit, his will to live. Truly, what he was experiencing could be far worse, but right now, all he wanted to do was just curl up and die. He knew he should count his blessings that it wasn't worse than it was presently, but it was hard to do when he wanted to sleep or die.

His outward-reaching Veela senses strained to register something, anything. So far they had only been able to keep track of the number of days that had passed--eight--and the general time of day--late afternoon, soon to be evening. However, _something_ was happening; he knew it. Something inside twanged with apprehension and anticipation. He just didn't know what it was, nor what it meant for him.

He lurched, reaching for the door again, more desperately, straining against the stakes in his rotting wings. He screamed in agony, a few ribs he suspected to be broken protesting the movement. His hobbled legs beat against the wall as he tried to remove himself from the restraints. He didn't know what was happening, but it was important, and he felt a sense of urgency drumming through his blood, anxiety making him flush and heat, his heart beating staccato.

It didn't take long for his energy to run out, however. He hung limp, hardly able to hold his head up. Sweat dripped from his skin and mangled hair. That long, low keen warbled from his throat once more, tears stinging his eyes but refusing to fall. Blackness that had nothing to do with the darkness of the cell encroached on the edges of his vision.

But then there was a scrape at the door, followed by a thud, so unlike the smooth slide of the door opening all those times before by his tormentors. They were the first real noises aside from the hallucinated screams and wails that he had heard in close to six hours. It snapped him back to full alertness. Someone was trying to force their way in.

Hope fluttered briefly in his battered chest. He squirmed, magic lending him a little energy. Maybe it was a rescue. Dear God and Merlin, _please_ let it be a rescue!

There was another scratch and an angry-sounding thump, and Harry panted in anticipation. He crooned, as if to encourage the intruder's success. He could almost taste freedom on his tongue. Then it screeched and scraped in protest, dragging against the floor and opening loudly as the person had to bodily shove it open, unaided by magic.

Harry screeched the cry of a dying hawk when he saw the black shroud of a figure in the garb of his tormentors as it entered the cell. He bucked and cried in agony, betrayed by his optimism, feeling something begin to wither and die inside. Thrashing and recoiling, his wings tensed and trembled. He couldn't take anymore! He hoped this one just killed him and got it over with! End his misery. Someone else can kill the snake-faced bastard and save the world.

The Death Eater swept forward as the Veela panicked and thrashed, arms shooting out. "Harry, Harry," he whispered urgently, flinging back his hood, voice unfamiliar. "Calm down, I'm here to help. It's okay. Calm down before it's too late. Hush!"

Harry reared, preparing to swing a kick with one of his destroyed legs when he saw the man's face. He nearly choked. This was a face he'd only ever seen in Grimmauld Place where the Black family tree was depicted, and a photograph of a Slytherin Quidditch team sat on a mantle.

"R-Regulus Black," he whispered, numb lips stammering. "Y-you're dead..."

"Not quite. It's a long story, Harry, but right now I need to get you to the Order. I've only got a few minutes' head start on them." With that, Regulus stepped out of the cell, only to return with a stool.

He placed it in front of Harry, and he stepped up on it, bringing himself almost to Harry's chest. He brought Harry's arms around his neck, and he stuffed a cloth in the teen's mouth to muffle the gut-wrenching screams as he removed the barbaric stakes from Harry's wings. A horrendous wet sound accompanied each stake's removal, unrealistically loud in the silence of the cell. A few feathers fell from every grotesque hole that remained, the stakes clanging as they fell to the stone floor. The agony was indescribable, and Harry wished he would die more and more, close to blacking out again when the fifth stake fell.

Tears poured unchecked from Harry's eyes as he sagged against the older wizard. His magic swirled to keep him from bleeding out, distressed and wanting to lash out in its restlessness. Regulus wrapped his arms around Harry's waist and stepped down off the stool; he was tall enough that short Harry's feet still didn't touch the ground, although his wings dragged the floor as they drooped.

"My mate," he moaned mournfully as he was hauled from the room slowly and carefully. They had to exit the doorway sideways so as not to aggravate the Veela's wings any more than necessary. "My mate was there...when I was captured. They're _here_."

"I know, Harry, and we'll figure it out later. Right now we have to get you out of here." As soon as they were outside the confines of the torture chamber, Regulus cast a Lightening Charm so he could carry Harry more easily. "Keep an eye out if you can, Harry. We're almost home free."

Next thing he knew, they were sprinting down the hall, and somehow, his godfather's long-thought-dead brother wasn't jostling or bumping his mushed-up legs. He easily supported Harry's body, even going so far as to mutter a spell to help keep the injured wings supported and prevented them from dragging the ground. Dazedly, the Chosen One attempted to stay as focused as possible, feeling lightheaded.

Harry's magic switched to masking pain and flaring out his senses. There was turmoil all around. Prisoners had been freed and given their wands back, fighting their captors with a vengeance and escaping from all angles. The Death Eaters, betrayed by one they thought too low among their ranks to even realize that he was supposed to be dead, were ill-prepared and scrambling to gain the upper hand. 

Harry's senses, no longer impeded by the wards and charms that had been cast on his cell, sent him an onslaught of information. He struggled to rifle through it all, all the while keeping his eyes and ears open for danger to him and his apparent rescuer.

"Bellatrix is dead," Harry whispered to Regulus, eyes glazed over, as if he was having a Seer's vision rather than rattling off real-time events' information, like a live newscaster. "Three prisoners dead. Most escaped. Those not are fighting and gathering their fallen comrades."

Regulus remained silent, outwardly calm, but nodded his acknowledgment. They were heading up the stairs.

Harry jerked his head, aware of the hissing rasp of scales on the floor. His wings rose and trembled. He knew that he was a Horcrux, but his transformation into his creature blood had burned the taint from his own soul. It remained to be seen if he retained Parseltongue.

"Nagini," he rasped, trying not to pant with exertion. "At the top of the stairs."

Regulus cursed, but there was nowhere else they could go. They needed to get up the stairs to get within the reach of a Floo or an Apparition point.

"Just keep going," Harry urged. "She's a Horcrux. Even if she doesn't die, the Horcrux must be eradicated. Then only two will remain."

"Nagini will not go down without a fight," the younger Black descendant replied gruffly, panting. 

"Leave her to me." It was said with more bravado than he felt, and they both knew it.

Regulus lurched to a halt just as they reached teh third to last step, where the large viper coiled, hissing with the promise of death glowing eerily in her eyes. Harry twisted himself, despite the scream of his ribs and the sting of the whiplashes across his flesh. He opened his mouth to speak, but the snake leaped before a single syllable could be uttered.

Instead, a screech a bit like an eagle's war cry tore from his throat, and his arms snapped out, lightning fast, surprising even himself; his Veela battle instincts whipped to the forefront, so fast he almost felt dizzy, lending him strength and agility, despite his broken body and exhausted magic. The heaviness of Nagini's four-meter-long body slammed into him with enough force that he felt another rib crack, propelling him and Regulus down a step. It coiled around his body, attempting to constrict while her head thrashed, straining against Harry's hold.

Knowledge and effortless magic bubbled up from his lungs in the form of Parseltongue, proving that this gift was not dependent on the snake-faced madman's soul-piece.

" _You will stop_ ," he hissed, eyes blazing from green to gold as his Veela pushed through to the surface. " _You will cease and desist._ "

Nagini paused, astonished that someone other than her master could speak as she did, and would deign to command her to boot.

That single moment in time was all it took for Harry to push a burst of wandless, wordless, nameless magic at her, through her, burning her on the inside. The magic tore through her, harmless to her physical body as it ferreted out the Dark Magic within her soul. The giant serpent writhed, fighting the pain and her captor's hold.

There was a wail, a shriek of agony that was not the wizards' nor the snake's. The black cloud of the Dark Magic rose and writhed in the air above the scaled body, and Nagini fell limp. Bursts of fire-like magic struck like lightning through the black mass, a mini-thunderstorm there in the hall of the Dark Lord's safe house. With every "strike", the mass grew smaller, shrinking and squirming, fighting its demise.

It was all over in a matter of seconds.

Rather than marvel at what had just happened right in front of them, Regulus sprang over the prone reptile and dashed down the corridor, feet pounding seemingly too loudly against the floor. Harry hung bonelessly in his arms, bridal style this time; his head lolled uselessly on his neck, and a buzzing sound like static in his ears blocked most other noises. With a wave of a wand, the window at the end of the hall exploded off its hinges in a burst of wood and shattering glass.

Regulus charged for the sill, leaping. He launched from the floor to the sill, long legs bunching powerfully. Harry gave in to his exhaustion as they hurled out of the window, the lurch of Disapparition jerking their bodies to somewhere unknown.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I didn't get any bad reviews on the first chapter, so here's the second! It's slow going, I know, but it's my first multi-chapter story in a looooong time. 
> 
> Still un-betaed.
> 
> I hope you enjoy! Feedback = love

_Wakefulness greeted Harry with the feeling_ of scales against his skin. His emerald eyes snapped open, but he could sense no immediate threat. He tested his limbs cautiously. He was in significantly less pain that the last time he remembered being conscious. His wings were wrapped with loads of bandages and gauze, legs in splints from mid-thigh down. The lacerations appeared to have been completely healed, bruises fading. It no longer felt like he was being stabbed every time he tried to breathe.

Memories of what all had transpired slowly trickled in. He processed it all calmly, not yet turning his head to look at the room, which he perceived to not be a hospital room. It lacked the sterile smells and the bright whiteness on the walls, at the very least.

The silky slide of scales against his skin commanded his attention once more. Nagini lay coiled around him, as though she was giving him a full-bodied hug rather than holding him prisoner. She glanced at him but remained still otherwise. Harry shifted slightly to see what she'd do, unsure of whether he should be terrified or not. She adjusted her coils to accommodate his movements but made no other response.

"She attached herself to us when we Disapparated," Regulus said, making Harry flinch, as he'd not yet gotten around looking for other occupants in the room.

Harry snapped his gaze to the left and was met with the oddest scene he had witnessed to date. Regulus sat on a couch, as the room was more of a guest bedroom than anything else. Sirius sat on the floor with his head pillowed on his brother's knee, arms wrapped around both legs. Snape sat beside Regulus, slouched with his head on the younger Black's shoulder, looking younger than he had in years and much more relaxed, totally at odds with the Potions Master Harry was used to.

They all looked very cozy, Regulus' expression content and soft, and it made Harry's heart ache with longing.

Had he seen this just a few months earlier, Harry would not have been able to accept what his eyes were telling him. He most likely would have demanded explanations, flown off the handle with flailing arms and a raised voice. He was known for a wild temper--his mother's red hair, someone once said--and he would have said things he didn't mean and admitted things he wanted kept hidden. It would have been a right tantrum.

But with the wings, a few things had become clear. It was as if the feathered masses had bestowed upon him a knowledge and understanding of relationships he'd never had before. He could see and feel the love between the estranged brothers, knew it would take some time and explanations to heal old wounds, but for now they basked in renewed closeness, soaking in each other's presence. As for Snape, it was apparent their relationship had been a little--or a lot--deeper than just friendship. It was deeper, more chaotic, similar to what Harry had thought had been between Snape and his mother, yet not. It was much _more_.

The return of one thought long-lost was an emotional and draining experience for all parties involved, and although it was surreal to witness, Harry could understand this for what it was without thinking himself barmy. On another level, he envied them their closeness. So far, the only contact he'd had with his mate was while he was being kidnapped and attacked by murderous Dark wizards.

At least he knew that neither of these three men were _his_.

"Where are we?" the youth asked, voice croaking with disuse. "And what day is it?" He sat up a little, able to prop himself up with the pillows behind so as not to further aggravate his injuries.

"We're in a safe house the Order has scrounged up for us. It is under Fidelius." Regulus' hand held Snapes, and his thumb idly rubbed across the back of it. He had a low voice that was pleasant to listen to, soothing. "You've been asleep and healing for three days. It is a Sunday. Severus and Siri have been getting along, for the most part, in favor of getting you healed as much as possible without actually calling a Healer, which may jeopardize us. Luckily, your magic did the hardest arts. Nagini seems to have chosen you as her new master. She has not left you alone since hitchhiking."

Harry hummed and hesitantly smoothed his fingertips over her iridescent green scales. A pleased hiss came from her, no louder than a whisper.

"So what's your story, Regulus? And how did you keep everyone i the dark about being alive? Even the tapestry in Grimmauld Place had you pegged as deceased." His eyes swing back to blue eyes, so like his older brother's.

"I escaped the Inferi somehow," Regulus replied with a thoughtful frown. "I still don't remember how. It's all a blur. Once I realized I wasn't going to be able to complete the task I set out for, I set about making sure everyone believed I was dead. I couldn't risk my brother or Severus, or even Kreacher, knowing, so I cast an Illusion on the tapestry, and then I placed a Stasis Charm on it to make sure it didn't fade. Then I decided to try to keep an eye on the proceedings in my Animagus form. I'm a crow. It's easy enough to make people believe I'm just a random bird since we look the same, and crows are natural tricksters anyway, capable of fooling humans.

"I spent the years sending anonymous tips to Dumbledore and the Order, but there was only so much I could do. It killed me, keeping everything from my loved ones, and I even tried to assist you as you grew up with those deplorable Muggles."

He paused as Snape's head shifted. His brow creased, but he eventually settled and remained asleep. "And then I saw you reveal your heritage in a room full of Death Eaters," he said in a softer voice. "I knew it wasn't your fault, but something had to be done. I don't think you alone are supposed to go up against the Dark Lord, but you are crucial to the war and his demise.

"Unfortunately, it took me longer than I liked to perform a rescue. I was also trying to figure out who your mate was so I could be sure that we wouldn't cross him or her. It would surely have put a damper on the rescue effort, more so than Nagini turned out to be."

"No kidding," Harry mumbled, tiredly pushing at his fringe. Gentle probing told him his hair was already filling out in the places that had been ripped out. "With the way my luck tends toward, Lord No-Nose would be my mate. Thank Merling we know he's not, and nor was Bellatrix." He would have felt the tear in his soul had she been when she died.

"Be grateful for small favors," Snape agreed in a mutter, coming awake fully. He rolled his neck and rubbed the side of his face. He straightened but didn't release his hold on Regulus' hand. "Leave it to you, Potter, to prematurely enter your creature inheritance. Lily hadn't even made it to her transformation."

"Female Veela do not enter their maturity until they are twenty-four," Harry responded, his Veela instantly providing him with the information, much like a news report in his head, like there was a separate entity in there. "There was also a chance she wouldn't have come into her inheritance since her family has been squib for so long. Whatever was in the Potter lineage made it more possible for me. However, you are correct in saying I am premature. Males usually are at least seventeen. I was two months early."

Harry glanced at his pitiful-looking wings, wrapped and slowly healing, although the feathers were no longer rotting. "Does anyone know what my blood is mixed with? I am not purely Veela. And how soon do you expect me to be 100%."

Snape now had both hands folded in his lap, his shoulder pressed flush to Regulus'. Yes, there definitely was a non-platonic relationship between these two wizards. "It is believed that there was a species of humanoids that harnessed the characteristics of a phoenix," he stated smoothly. "Complete with the power over fire, reincarnation and immortality, augmented strength, and even the ability to heal with their tears."

"We are still researching," Regulus added. "However, we are fairly sure this is the other half to your inheritance."

"Well, whatever it is, it helps me destroy Dark magic." He frowned, a sudden thought striking him. If he could destroy Horcruxes with the power and magic of his creature inheritance, could he cut the tie the Dark Mark had to the Dark Lord? And if so, could he also remove the physical mark from the bearer's flesh? What would it take to do so? Could he do it without harming the individual permanently?

"Harry?"

The teen blinked and looked back up at them in question.

Sirius was awake now and gazing at him with concern, hair mussed from his sleeping habits. "Are you all right?"

"Mm, yeah. I was just thinking," Harry answered, quirking a smile at his godfather.

"Merlin help us all," Snape bemoaned, scowling when Regulus nudged him admonishment.

"What of?" Sirius persisted, content in letting his brother handle the snarky Potions Master.

"The limits of my abilities," Harry replied. His fingers carefully stroked over Nagini's smooth scales. "I was able to destroy the Horcrux inside Nagini without killing her. I'm curious whether I could get rid of Dark Marks just as easily and harmlessly. She felt pain, yes, but that was to be expected when she had been a Horcrux for the better part of seventeen years. The agony I felt during the transformation drowned out any pain I may have felt from the soul piece in my scar."

Sirius looked stricken, turning pale. He hadn't known, and by the tenseness of body and the deepening of the lines on his face, Snape had. Both knew what it would have meant for him under normal circumstances.

Good thing nothing about Harry Potter and his life was ever _normal_.

If Snape knew, then Dumbledore had known, and they both left Harry, and probably everyone else who _should_ have been aware, in the dark. Harry had to struggle not to get angry at the moment. It was always the same old shit, being left out of the loop, lacking the information necessary for his survival.

Regulus cleared his throat, effectively preventing him from going down that particularly dark road. "Well, the only way to find out would be for you to try it." He untangled himself from the other two wizards and approached Harry.

Snape flicked his wand, and a chair dragged itself across the floor and around the bed from the window to wear Regulus stood near Harry's bedside. "Sit. Who knows how long or how strenuous this will be." His voice betrayed his nervousness over this new course of action.

Harry shifted to the side, and Nagini shifted along with him. She moved around until her head rested on his shoulder, as though to watch what her new master was about to do.

"You seem awfully calm about all of this, Harry," Sirius observed, hauling himself off of the floor and stretching cramped muscles. He sighed with relief as his back and shoulders popped audibly.

The Veela's eyes tracked Regulus' movements as he shucked and folded his robes and rolled his shirt sleeve up to his elbow, revealing the ugly mark. "My transformation seems to have stabilized my teenage hormones as well as allowed me to analyze emotions and events at a more rapid rate. I can react more rationally, and I have also come to accept that while the Dark Lord is still alive and wreaking havoc, my life will continue to be a series of unfortunate events.

"I have accepted that secrets that were better told will be kept from me. People will always be trying to kill me or serve me up on a silver platter. If they're not doing that, they're either trying to get a piece of me to slather across the headlines, and even twisting my words so that the public who don't have brains are banding against me. In the end, I will either succeed, or I will die; everyone believes their lives depend on what I do when there are stronger men and women who could honestly do just as good, if not better.

"I will do what is expected of me, or die trying. And if I live, that is when I will take hold and do what I want." Harry nodded firmly. The explanation had turned into more of a ramble, and he pretended that he didn't see the sadness in his godfather's face, or feel the heat making his skin flush.

"And what of your new scaly friend?" Sirius asked after a moment. It appeared he had only just recently came to terms with his instinctive fear of the large serpent, coiled around his godson. He conveyed only slight nervousness now.

"She may prove useful," Harry responded. "So far, she seems to have appointed herself my guardian. I'll keep her around for as long as she wants to stay, provided she doesn't eat anyone important."

With that said, the boy turned his attention to Regulus, who had patiently sat and waited with his marked forearm outstretched. Emerald orbs studied every nuance of the ugly creation of Dark magic, pain, and horror tattooing Regulus' pale underarm. He could feel the evil emanating from it, and his scar pulsed to respond despite the absence of the soul-piece that once resided there. The potential of pain lurked under the murky depiction of a skull and snake, and his wings weakly rustled in agitation.

Reaching out, he lay a single fingertip against the head of the inked snake. Regulus hissed in pain, and the skin seemed to almost visibly cringe away from Harry's touch. The darkness he sensed inside shifted. The teen jerked back in alarm, making eye contact and vaguely aware of both Snape and Sirius clenching their fists and refraining from jumping to aid the younger Black.

"What did you feel?" Harry asked once Regulus had calmed, trusting him not to snark or sugarcoat it.

"It was like the Dark Mark was trying to physically recoil from you," Regulus answered, slightly breathless, face scrunching in concentration. "When I carried you, I didn't have this reaction. I think because you and your Veela focused on it, the magic would rather hide out of sight, but it has nowhere to go."

"That must be what happened with the Horcruxes," Harry murmured a little dreamily. "I just focused on destroying them without actually thinking about what I'm doing, and apparently the Dark magic literally tries to escape my magic, making it easier to eliminate. When I transformed, I was surrounded by lightning and fire, and the soul piece in my scar was disintegrated as soon as it exited my scar. The only question now is whether you can withstand the pain of the process." He suddenly felt drained, and he knew that he was almost at the end of his energy.

Without hesitation, and with deadly conviction, Regulus replied, "Anything to be rid of this." Jaw tight with determination, eyes steely, he thrust his arm at Harry again.

Harry, though, backed off, settling back into his pile of snake and pillows. "I'm tired," he explained, eyelids getting heavy as he spoke. "I will try again and for real when I am less likely to exhaust myself halfway through or mess up and harm you."

"Quite," Snape agreed, rising. "Potter requires a meal, more potions, and rest before he attempts anything more than a Lumos Charm."

"Did anyone retrieve my wand? And Hedwig?" Harry inquired as Regulus relented and stood to slip back into his robes and put the chair back. The thought was sudden but all the more important. He didn't know what the Dursleys would do to his things without him there, and Vernon had often threatened to cook Hedwig for dinner.

"When we received news from Mrs. Figg that you'd been kidnapped off the street in broad daylight, we sent your house-elf Dobby to collect your things," Snape replied. "He also took it upon himself to document your living conditions with the Muggles."

"We will discuss _that_ later," Sirius said fiercely, looking murderous. For a second, it was hard to believe that Padfoot wasn't the werewolf in his and Remus' relationship.

"You rest now, Harry," Regulus said, patting the boy's shoulder with a familiarity that is surprising considering the conditions of their acquaintance so far. "One of us will return later with food and potions."

Harry nodded and watched as they filed out quietly. He sighed, leaning back once more, allowing himself to relax. He rubbed his face and let the anxiety and stress he'd been harboring since he was first captured just flew away. The tension leaked out of him, and he lay in Nagini's coiled like a limp rag.

For sure, there was a lot to be done in the future; getting rid of the Dark Marks, recovering from his injuries and neglect, and destroying the remaining Horcruxes to name a few.

But for now, he was safe. Everything else could wait.


	3. Chapter 3

_Harry woke to the sound of_ screaming. He thrashed, fighting the restriction around his body. His wings flailed around him. He couldn't breathe. The pain in his throat told him that he was the one screaming, and it made him all the more desperate. His wings pummeled the wall and bed, and the bedside table overturned.

The sound of feet running up stairs snapped him fully awake, and he sat up fast, eyes wide. His glasses had been flung with the table, the lenses broken. He dragged his fingers through his hair, heart pounding frantically and wings still flapping as he tried to will the terror to drain from him.

He was safe. He was in a bed, not hanging from a wall in a cell. He was well-clothed. He was bleeding, but only because he'd freaked out. He could breathe. Yes he _could_. Inhale through the nose and exhale from the mouth. Repeat. Repeat.

He nearly lost it again, nearly leapt for the window despite his hobbled legs, when the door slammed open, but the sight of bright red hair immediately set him at ease. "Bloody hell, mate, give everyone a heart attack," Ron muttered as he and Hermione bustled in.

They came to his bedside, and his arms shot out, catching Ron by his forearms in death grips. Blue eyes flew wide in response. But Harry needed the contact to ground him, and he refused to let go, staring at his brother in all but blood. Ron sobered as the sight of Harry's distress hit home, and he eased close to his friend. Hermione set the room to rights again in a fit of anxiety, repairing his glasses, standing close but not overbearingly.

"Easy there, mate," Ron said in a surprisingly low and soothing tone; it was one a stablemaster would use to calm wild horses. He carefully sat down on the bed beside Harry, turning his arms so he could awkwardly mimic the grasp Harry had on him. "Just breathe, mate. We're here, and you're safe. Everyone's safe, and you can't be hurt anymore."

The longer Ron talked, the easier it became to breathe and think. The rapid galloping of his heart slowed, and Harry's fingers loosened their grip slowly. He was trembling now, and Hermione summoned another blanket to settle around him to make sure he was warm and didn't go into shock.

"Sorry," Harry rasped hoarsely. "I'm sorry."

"Nah, don't worry 'bout it, mate," Ron soothed, still holding Harry's forearms as long as Harry retained _his_ hold, thumbs gently rubbing back and forth.

"You have nothing to be sorry about, Harry," Hermione reassured. Her hands fussed with the blanket and hesitantly stroked through Harry's patchy hair.

"Hermione read up on how to help people who survived situations similar to yours," Ron continued, seeming to instinctively know that talking about normal things would help put Harry at ease. What was more normal than Hermione doing research? "We can't get any Mind Healers here, you know? So we have to make sure you don't fall apart too badly that you can't be put back together eventually."

"You're going to suffer through some post-traumatic stress disorder symptoms for a while, Harry," Hermione told him calmly, following Ron's lead. She carefully placed his fixed glasses on his face. "We can't profess to know what you went through, but we'll do everything we can to make sure you come out of this as whole as you possibly can." She kissed his cheek fondly.

The longer they spoke, the calmer Harry became. His trembling faded slowly, and he finally released Ron's arms, silently leaning into Hermione's embrace. Only then did he register the sting in his wings. He glanced over. In a dazed voice, he murmured, "I'm bleeding."

Hermione's head snapped around, observing the blood soaking through Harry's bandages. "Blimey, mate, you sure did a number on yourself," Ron remarked as the bushy-haired witch left in search of one of the older and more experienced wizards in the household.

"Who better than me?" Harry asked blandly, trying to fall back into his more normal self. He still felt raw, on edge, and he wasn't sure what exactly had made him freak out in the first place.

"Snape's gonna be pissed you messed up all his hard work," Ron said with a grin, adjusting his position where he sat on the bed.

Harry shrugged. Not much he could actually do about that. He glanced around and panicked when he didn't see the green, four-meter body of his new serpentine companion. "Where is Nagini?" Dear Merlin, she hadn't gotten bored waiting for him to wake up and left to wreak havoc, had she?

"Well, we're actually on a small farm somewhere, and there were mice getting into the pantry and potions ingredients and gardens, so Snape set her off to be useful," Ron replied with a repressed shudder. "Mate, are you sure you want to keep her?"

Harry shrugged, leaning back against the pillows as he relaxed. "She could be useful. Plus, it'll be a rub in that bastard's face that his snake abandoned him for me." He grinned tightly at the thought.

Ron snorted, then moved away from the bed as a stony-faced Snape came in, obviously peeved with having to pack the wounds with new herbs and bandage them again. Harry and his best friends watched silently, although it was obvious Snape was exaggerating his motions so Hermione could do this in the event that this happened again.

"Pray tell why you decided to rip open your wounds after only a few days worth of healing," the snarky Potions Master said in that smooth voice that had the ability to cut like the lash of a whip.

Harry shuddered at the thought and resisted the urge to curl his wings around him protectively, focusing on keeping them still.

"He had a panic attack, sir," Hermione spoke up, taking the responsibility from Harry as a small mercy. "It was consisted with PTSD, which is common for individuals who suffer severe traumatic experiences. Even Muggles experience it, although being subject to magical torment often worsens the effects of the disorder." She sounded like she was reading off of one of her papers in class.

"What about being held under Cruciatus?" Harry asked anxiously.

Three pairs of eyes swung around to stare in disbelief at him. Harry ducked his head and hunched his shoulders, feathers rustling. That wasn't very encouraging. He'd only had her for a few hours--that he was conscious for, anyway--but he wanted Nagini now. Her coils had been comforting, especially since he couldn't use his wings as a shield like Veela were wont to do.

"Do you know how long you were held under the curse?" Snape inquired, his movements slow and measured. Whether he meant to or not, Harry was comforted by the careful gestures, sure that more quick and abrupt ones would only distress him further. 

"I'm not sure," Harry replied, frowning, trying to think back. His fingers twitched as he forced himself to look back on memories he'd rather squash. "He was so delighted to see me and to see evidence of my inheritance that he couldn't help but inflict pain. He didn't want to permanently incapacitate me until after he'd gotten what he wanted from me. I think he had me under for...maybe a little over two minutes? It all blurs..."

Hermione's eyes filled with tears, but she didn't let them fall. Ron's face turned red, fists clenching in anger, but he remained quiet. They would let the emotion out later, out of sight of their injured friend. He wanted to tell them it was okay, that they didn't have to be strong in front of him.

He kept his mouth shut though, focusing on Snape as he moved around from his left to his right wing.

"The Torture Curse prolongs the effects of any trauma you receive thereafter," Snape said as he replaced the bloodied bandages with new clean ones. "Unfortunately, it also makes you more sensitive to pain, as your pain receptors are never fully healed afterwards. It's one of the reasons why people can go insane after prolonged exposure. Their nervous system takes over their psychological and mental faculties until they can't focus on anything other than emotions and sensations. 

"Had I known, I would have made a few adjustments on your potions. I do not blame you for not mentioning it, however. You had larger things to worry about, and your last few Defense Against the Dark Arts professors were utter shite. You most likely didn't know about these effects."

Ron choked on his own spit at hearing the ever proper if rude Potions Professor utter a curse word that had nothing to do with magic. Harry hid a smile while Hermione bit her lip, caught between amusement and outrage--she took after Molly in the way she disliked foul language.

"Have you need of Dreamless Sleep, Mr. Potter?" Snape continued, paying to mind to the childish reactions to his word choice.

"Not so far, sir," Harry answered honestly. "If I'm having nightmares, I can't remember them. I don't even know why I woke up this time around. I will let you know if that changes though." Again, three pairs of eyes turned to him, this time with stern expressions. They knew him well. "I swear."

Snape stared at him firmly for a few moments, then stood fluidly, finished with the bandages. He banished the bloodied ones crisply. "Ms. Granger, when you have a moment, I believe it would behoove the rest of us if you explained more about your research on PTSD. I would rather all the occupants of this house be aware of what is possible and likely to happen. Also what your thoughts on treatment and assisting Mr. Potter would benefit us"

Hermione made a visible effort not to beam at the evidence of a mentor's recognition of her expertise on any subject, as well as the fact that he was asking advice. She nodded. "Yes sir. I will spend some more time here with Harry, then prepare some material. Perhaps we can call a meeting of sorts in three hours in the living room?"

The quirk to Snape's lips were evidence that he was fully aware of Hermione's excitement right now. "That would be acceptable." He made eye contact with Harry once more. "Do try not to tear yourself apart again, Mr. Potter. It will become tiresome wrapping your mother's wings again." With that, he swept out of the room.

Harry sighed and slumped back against his mound of pillows, stacked high to prop him up and keep the pressure off of his wings. He attempted moving his legs oung that they were still in splints. "How long do you think it'll take for my legs to heal?" he asked, trying to not let Snape's insistence on attributing everything to his mother rather than himself, like he was only a poor copy of her, get to him.

Hermione hummed and waved her wand, murmuring what he supposed was a diagnosis spell. While she busied herself with the scroll that read off his injuries and estimated heal times, Ron used his magic to enlarged the bed. He and Hermione crawled up to sit beside Harry's splinted legs.

"I'd say another day or two to get the splints off," Hermione told him, the scroll vanishing with a poof of cartoonish smoke. "It's hard to say how long it'll take for them to be 100%. Your wings will hopefully only take three or four, in the event you don't rip them open again."

"That's comforting. I hate sitting still against my will. And I can't really change position." He rolled his shoulders, trying to ease the stiffness. "And I can't wait for a bath."

"Yeah, cleaning charms can only go so far," Ron said with a twist to his lips, remembering his last visit to the infirmary following a Quidditch injury.

"Just be grateful there are even cleaning charms," Hermione said primly, folding her legs as she sat fully on the bed.

"Yeah, Muggles have to deal with sponge baths from other people or simply suffer until they can de it themselves. And don't even get me started on catheters and bedpans," Harry added when Ron just looked on in confusion.

"Gross, mate."

"That's what happens when there is a complete lack of magic to make things easier," the Boy-Who-Lived replied with a shrug. He experimentally wiggled his big toe, grimaced, and ceased all movement immediately as agony slammed through him. He hadn't remembered just how much pulverized ankles bloody _hurt_. He shuddered and swallowed until the sea of agony rolled over and ebbed.

Ron and Hermione watched in silent concern. "Harry, do you want me to ask for some pain potions?" the bushy-haired witch inquired once he was able to school his features.

"No. No, that's okay. I don't like how they make me feel." He popped his neck and tried to smile reassuringly.

"Well... If you're sure... I can bring you some Tylenol if that works better, just to take the edge off."

"Yeah, that'll be fine. Aunt Petunia noticed me getting migraines and snuck--"

"Sneaked," she interrupted.

"Sneaked me some Tylenol when Uncle Vernon wasn't watching. I didn't feel woozy or fuzzy, so I know they're okay." He smiled gratefully. "So who all is here in the safe house? I didn't expect you to be here."

"They tried to attack us at our homes the same day you were taken," Hermione replied. "Ron's family is in a safe house in Ireland, and my parents took an impromptu and indefinite vacation in Australia. In this safe house, we have Sirius, Regulus, Professor Snape, and the Malfoys."

"The Malfoys?" Harry repeated, a little flabbergasted. "Which ones?"

"All three," Ron said with a disgruntled expression. "I have to room with Malfoy until you're healed."

"You could always sleep on the couch, Ron," Harry pointed out.

Ron's expression clearly showed the thought had never occurred to him. Hermione rolled her eyes. "Better yet, you could transfigure the couch. Honestly, Ronald. You'd think we were the ones that grew up with magic." 

"So why is Voldie's right hand man in a safe house with us? And can he be trusted?" Harry asked, mostly to keep from snickering at his best mate.

"Draco refused the Dark Mark," Hermione said. She pushed back some of her hair. "He saw what Riddle was doing to those who opposed him, even the purebloods, and knew that this was not what he wanted for the Wizarding World. I think he saw what was being done to you, Harry, and it scared him more than anything.

"The Dark Lord tried to torture Draco in his anger at his refusal, and Narcissa threw herself in front of the curse instead. Part of whatever curse was flung at them still managed to put a version of the Dark Mark on Draco, but it appears to be different from the others I've seen. Lucius feels betrayed that his precious leader would hurt his family, especially after his continued years of loyalty."

"Regulus said that he pretended not to see what Regulus did to start the uprising in the bastard's lair," Ron added. "He even 'accidentally' dropped the key to the dungeon where the prisoners were kept. When all hell broke loose, he grabbed Draco and Mrs. Malfoy and portkeyed away. I don't know how he gained sanctuary with the Order, but apparently Kingsley thought it best to house them with the Boy-Who-Lived."

"I'm sure he had perfectly good reasons," Hermione confirmed almost haughtily. "Besides, pending a trial on his crimes, Malfoy Senior has had his magic temporarily bound. He's able to do simple tasks, but he definitely cannot go on the offensive or defensive. He has also been sworn under an Unbreakable Vow to not harm anyone in the safe house."

"Ah. Well, that's comforting," Harry said with a nod. "Is Mrs. Malfoy okay?"

"She's recovering. Weak. No one knows what curse it was," Hermione sighed. "But she's comfortable for now."

Harry nodded once more. He was quiet for a moment, just silent and still. His friends were happy to remain quiet as well. They both rested a hand on his thighs, needing to be close but wary of injuring him. The trio soaked in each other's presence after being separated for so long. "Hermione, could you do me a favor?" he finally asked. 

She turned expectant brown eyes back to his face. "Of course, Harry. Whatever you need."

He fidgeted for a brief beat. "Ask Malfoy, Sr., if he would like to have the Dark Mark from his arm if I'm successful with removing Regulus'."

"You can _do_ that?" Ron demanded, wide-eyed.

"Well, in theory," Harry confirmed. He took the next few minutes to explain what all had happened yesterday when he first woke up. Ron and Hermione listened with avid attention. Hermione was delighted at the new information, and he had no doubt she would want to be present, her bright mind thirsty for knowledge. Ron, for his part, was interested, fascinated by yet a new facet to his best mate's power.

"Harry, this is brilliant," Ron said finally. "You could help a lot of people who took Dark Marks just to save their own skin or their families. It's believed the Dark Mark _can't_ be removed. Riddle can track his Death Eaters through them. I don't know how long a Fidelius charm will hold up against that type of magic, so if you can remove it..."

"We'll all be a lot safer," Harry finished with a nod, silently proud that Ron isn't displaying the prejudiced views on Death Eaters and Slytherins most people assumed he should act just because he was a Gryffindor. 

He wasn't taking any chances, though. The less contact Ron had with the Malfoys, the better. At least for now.

"I'll definitely ask Mr. Malfoy," Hermione said with a bright smile. It was easy to tell she was thinking along the same lines. She hopped off the bed. "If she wants to keep Draco and his wife safe, I can't imagine him declining."

Her mind already four steps ahead, as per usual, she kissed Harry's cheek before leaving the room.

"You've made her day, mate," Ron chuckled, standing. "I ought to go get my things if you really don't mind me sleeping in here."

"Course I don't mind. Just one thing before you go though, Ron."

"What's that?"

"Help me to the loo."

~*~~*~~*~

 _It took about four days before_ Harry was allowed out of bed. It had driven him nuts, but it was all the more worth it. Surprisingly, Nagini had been a big help in keeping him from going stir crazy. When he was tired of reading, she'd told him the lay of the land in the perspective of a snake, and he'd spent close to two hours translating it into terms his human brain understood. Apparently she'd rid them of most pests already, shed a bit of her skin here and there, rubbed her scent around so that other future pests would keep their distance. She patrolled at least once a day for any "intruders." Thankfully, she didn't seem the slightest bit interested in eating Hedwig, who perched in the corner of his room and seemed altogether happy with her new living conditions.

Of course, Ron and Hermione had come to spend time with him. Snape, Sirius, and Regulus took turns with helping him eat and heal, and Harry slowly got used to seeing a younger, stockier version of Sirius. He also occasionally called him Uncle Regulus, trying to incorporate him in his "family." After everything he'd done for them, the man deserved to be included on anything he wanted.

He had yet to see even a glimpse of the Malfoys.

Now Harry slowly made his way down the stairs, using the bannister to keep from falling, silently resentful of being placed in a room on the second floor of the farmhouse. Ron was close by, ready to catch if he looked like he was going to tumble down the rest of the steps. Nagini was coiled at the bottom of the stairs' bannister. He almost wished he hadn't brought his wings back into himself--they would have helped with his balance.

He made it, though, sweating profusely and sore but upright and successful. His legs, only just newly healed, were stiff and sore, and he wondered why he'd wanted to walk around in the first place. 

"Well, that's enough adventure for now," Harry remarked, leaning against the wall. "I move that Ron carries me like a princess when I want to go back up the stairs."

Ron's ears turned red while Sirius grinned wolfishly from his position near the doorway to the living room. "Ah, Ronniekins, Princess Harry's knight in shining armor."

"Or wool sweaters," Hermione said with a giggle. "Harry, are you sure you're up to using magic today? I'm sure Regulus is more than willing to wait."

"Yes, I'm sure," Harry responded firmly. "My body is weak, not my magic. And I needed a change of scenery. You know how I am. I hate being cooped up. If I'm not at the Dursleys, I have no desire to stay in one room for days at a time. And Ron can carry me if I get too tired to go anywhere else."

"Or I could just use magic to float you around," Ron retorted.

"Where's the fun in that?" Harry demanded, green eyes sparkling with humor while Sirius snickered.

"Blimey, mate, you sure you didn't get your brains addled and scrambled while we weren't 'round to keep an eye on you?" Ron mumbled. He stepped close anyway when Harry pushed off the wall to start the slow walk to the living room.

"I don't remember any head injuries apart from getting my hair pulled on," the messy-haired teen replied thoughtfully, trying not to shudder at the memory. Sirius was a good distraction, though, wanting to scoop Harry up and just carry him the way he used to when Harry was a baby.

Harry flopped down in the first chair he could get to, giving up. His legs throbbed with exertion, and he wiped sweat from his forehead. Snape wordlessly held out a potion, and Harry frowned, "What is it?" he asked, trying not to pant.

"A pain potion."

"Oh, no thank you." He shook his head, straightening himself in the chair before slouching in the comfortable. He heard the smooth hiss of scales as Nagini approached his chair. "They make my brain fuzzy, and it's hard to concentrate," he explained at Snape's disapproving scowl. "I won't be able to focus on my task."

Now Snape looked thoughtful. "It's possible you have an allergy to one of the ingredients in these potions," he said, looking at the vial as though it had all the answers. He pocketed it in his robe. "Later, we will have to run an allergy test on your blood."

"Much later," Harry agreed. He was now decorated with the four-meter green snake, coiled around him affectionately and maybe a little possessively. He tucked his legs up on the chair cushion with him to get comfortable. "Can someone get a chair in front of me so Regulus doesn't have to stand? This is gonna suck; no reason for him to try to keep on his feet the whole time."

Ron left the room. Hermione perched on the arm of Harry's chair, unafraid of the snake that used to strike fear into their hearts at the very thought of her; she trusted Harry's judgment and ability to protect them against her Sirius and Snape sat on separate ends of the couch. Ron returned with a kitchen chair and set it down in front of Harry, and he sat between the two men on the couch. Regulus, looking freshly showered, came down from the second floor, briefly looked at the setup of the room, and took his place.

He went without the robes this time, and he shoved his sweater's sleeve up. He took a few cleansing breaths, then laid his forearm flat against the arm of Harry's chair. That stony determination marked his expression, eyes steely.

Harry took a deep breath of his own. He touched the mark, just to touch and feel the warmth of the skin, eyes closed. Regulus instinctively flinched, but Harry clamped his hand down onto the arm to keep it in place. Knowledge welled up inside him, things he only knew due to the wealth of magic in his creature blood, drawing on the reserves in the DNA Harry hadn't had four months ago.

Even when not focusing his senses and magic, Harry could feel the Dark magic under his palm, buzzing under the skin like nervous static.

"Synchronize your breaths with mine, Regulus Black," Harry murmured in a dreamy tone, falling into a bit of a trance under the lull of his Veela magic. It was almost like he was channeling someone else, a bit like Professor Trelawney did in her visions. "It will center your magic and sent the message that I am here to help, so it doesn't defend you when the hard part begins."

Regulus nodded minutely. He inhaled and exhaled with Harry, having to focus on it for a moment, and Harry could sense he was a little self-conscious with everyone's eyes on him. It was understandable; for 17 years, he'd been hiding in plain sight. Harry, on the other hand, had had years to get used to people watching and staring at him, since he was eleven years old.

Finally, Regulus and he were breathing together and easily. Additionally, Harry would also take a leap to say that everyone else had unconsciously followed suit, all of them breathing in unison. Harry opened his eyes, unaware that they were now gold. He looked down on the Dark Mark and made the first touch, backed by magic.

At first, there was nothing. He focused, sending his magic spiraling down his fingers. It spread, and then sank back down into Regulus' skin. And then the skin began to crawl and draw tight, the blackness within squirming and struggling to escape, but it could only go as far as the lines of the tattoo.

Regulus hissed in pain but kept breathing in unison with Harry, determined to do his part in keeping his magic calm despite his pain.

The lightning-like spark flashed at the tip of Harry's finger. It skidded around the lines of the Dark Mark, and an eerie scream rose seemingly from the skull of the mark. A second spark, this one more like a spark one saw when wood pops and breaks in a fire. Regulus clenched his fist.

" _We cast you out,_ " Harry whispered in Parseltongue.

Nagini raised her head, and she swayed like a dancing cobra, eyes focused on her master's hand and Regulus' arm. " _We cast you out,_ " she whispered, and had Harry not been so deeply entranced and focused on his task, he would have flinched in surprise.

The skin drew tight, try to draw away from him. Harry clamped his hand in a bruising grip on the Death Eater's forearm. " _We cast you out!_ " he and Nagini practically snarled. " _Begone!_ "

Then something literally lifted beneath his hand. Regulus screamed, and a black cloud of angry, writhing magic surrounded them like a fog. Harry leaned back, releasing Regulus' arm, and in its place coiled an asp, small and angry, made from the magic of the Dark Mark.

Harry was barely able to comprehend or react to what he was seeing before it sprang at his face, and Hermione screamed.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am very sorry that it took so long to update this story. It's also woefully short. This is not beta-ed at all. Please let me know if there are mistakes so that I can fix them!

_Hermione screamed. All Harry could see,_ seemingly in slow motion, an angry black asp flying at his face, jaws open, curved fangs dripping with lethal venom. He panicked, jerking back but trapped by the back of the chair.

And then Nagini struck, lightning fast, and everything went back to real time. She caught the Dark magic serpent in her much larger mouth. The power in her jaws snapped in it half, and the bottom half fell to the floor with a horrific thud. Harry and the rest of the room watched in disgust and fascinated revulsion. Nagini swallowed the half in her mouth, then slithered down to scoop up and swallow the grotesquely squirming black mass on the hardwood. Because it was made of magic, no blood marked the floor or her jaws, and the atmosphere instantly lightened. They hadn’t even known the heaviness of the evil until it was gone.

Seemingly satisfied, Nagini returned to coiling herself around Harry, hissing softly as she rested her head in the crook of Harry’s neck, whispering, “ _Master_ ,” to him. Harry stroked her scales, and she relaxed into the touch. He didn’t bother to correct her.

“Well…that was exciting,” Ron said a little unsteadily to break the tension.

“So is it done?” Regulus asked while Hermione straightened from where she’d fallen off the arm of the chair to dodge the flying serpent.

Harry relaxed and reached forward. Regulus hesitantly gave his forearm back to the Chosen One’s grip, sweaty and anticipating more pain.

But there was nothing. Harry’s Veela was calm and quiet. There was no tingle of misery or darkness emanating from the pale flesh, and the mark was now just a tattoo of a skull that had shrunk to a smaller version of itself. Upon further inspection, the skin there looked wrinkled and dry. Harry’s thumb brushed at it, then he picked at it with his short nails, and the skin flaked off, like the dead skin from a healing sunburn.

Underneath remained pink, shiny new skin, as if the Dark Mark had never been there.

“It’s gone,” Regulus whispered, eyes wide with shock. His head whipped around to stare at Severus, whose expression was pinched and concerned. “I don’t feel the Dark Lord anymore, Sev. It—he’s _gone_.”

“Harry, you did it,” Hermione murmured in awe, leaning over to look at the blank skin on Regulus’ arm. “This is amazing, and you can help so many people now!”

“Mione, he already _could_ ,” Ron corrected while Sirius and Severus crowded forward to confirm with their own eyes—and Severus’ unknown diagnosis spells muttered under his breath—that there wasn’t a Dark Mark anymore. “This is just something else Harry can do.”

Harry smiled at Ron appreciatively.

“How do you feel though, Harry?” Sirius asked, peering at his godson in concern. He patted at his shoulder, almost absently, as if to reassure himself that the Dark Magic serpent hadn’t swallowed him whole.

“Hm? Oh, I feel fine,” he replied, flexing his fingers and taking inventory of his muscles. “Of course, that may change when I try to stand. I’m a little hungry, though.” He grinned, supremely pleased with himself now that he knew for sure he’d successfully removed the Dark Mark.

“If Moony were here, he’d probably provide one of those candy bars he pulls out of nowhere,” Ron remarked with a grin.

“Black, don’t even think of owling anyone or activating the Floo,” Severus called after him with a scowl at his retreating back.

“Don’t tell me what to do, Batman!” The sound of pots and pans followed his words, which reassured them that he was “obeying” the order anyway.

Regulus put a stop to whatever the professor would have said with a gentle hand to his forearm. “We should take advantage of Harry’s ability and get rid of your mark, Severus,” he said in his quiet but firm way.

Harry nodded, shifting in his seat. “That’s right. For the safety of everyone here, all Dark Marks should be removed. Including the one on Mr. Malfoy. If he refuses, then maybe he should be moved to another safe house. I don’t want everyone to be put at risk.”

Ron nodded solemnly, and Hermione followed suit.

“We’ll cross that path soon enough,” Regulus remarked with a nod. “Right now, we should focus on feeding you, and then getting Severus ‘cleansed.’” He made air quotes with his fingers, which seemed out of character for a wizard with Regulus’ upbringing. It made Harry’s lips twitch; maybe he was more like his brother than others would have him believe, but it made Severus’ eyebrow twitch. “We’re not sure what sort of affect that magic had on your energy resources just yet, but it’s better to take precautions.”

Harry leaned back, relaxing as the group of them fell into a more companionable conversation. Sirius soon came in with fish and chips. Severus had the good grace to not comment on the food choice. Ron took three plates into a part of the house that Harry knew the Malfoys to inhabit per Nagini’s reports of the property.

Later, Harry sat cross-legged on the chair with Hermione and Ron on the floor in front of him. The older wizards decided that for Harry’s safety, they would wait until evening, preferably after dinner, to remove Severus’ Dark Mark. Harry agreed easily, in no real hurry. Instead, he picked apart some stale bread rolls, leaving the pieces on a plate. He planned on hobbling to the sizeable pond that housed a small flock of ducks that he knew was on the property beyond the barn due to Nagini’s detailed reports of her adventures while here.

She had expressed that Voldemort had never wished to hear anything she had to say unless it pertained to his safety, longevity, or world domination plans. Harry didn’t think it was a hardship to allow her to speak freely or in replying to her so she didn’t feel slighted. So far, she was a good companion. As long as she didn’t attempt any harm, to anyone, he’d treat her as she deserves.

“So what are we going to do about the Malfoys, Harry?” Ron inquired, eyes watching his best mate carefully.

He raised his eyebrows briefly, feathers rustling. He remained quiet for a moment, working it out in his head. What was Ron really asking here? They already knew what had to be done with the Dark Marks. Was he then asking about the inter-house relationship between them all? So far, they’d never gotten along with either male Malfoy. Mrs. Malfoy had never actually made any real contact with the Golden Trio beyond a few scathing remarks Harry had personally believed to be a front.

But really, what would it hurt in attempting to form bonds of friendship, or at the very least that of camaraderie. Purity of blood aside, having a high profile family with the traditional skills, strength, and schooling passed down from generations of Old Blood and ancestral knowledge of witchcraft and wizardry would certainly be an advantage to have allied with them.

Maybe Mr. Malfoy could help narrow down the candidates to whom he was mated. He could provide information on Death Eaters who had been present at the time of capture.

“I think it would behoove us to try to associate with them,” Harry replied carefully, his tone a verbal representation of dipping one’s toes in suspicious water.

Ron stared at him like he’d sprouted additional heads. “Since when did you start using words like _behoove_ , mate?” he demanded, as though positively flabbergasted with a touch of mock outrage.

“Well obviously I’ve rubbed off on him,” Hermione said smugly, eyes twinkly, head tilted haughtily. “It was bound to happen eventually, Ronald. I just have to work on you.”

“Not in front of Harry, luv,” Ron said with a twist to his lips, his blue eyes bright with mischief, a muted version of his twin brothers’ constant image. “Don’t wanna burn his virgin eyes.”

Hermione’s face burned bright red as she glared at him, and Harry laughed as she smacked his arm.

Finally, Harry felt that he had enough bread pieces for the ducks. He set the plate aside and began the arduous task of standing. Ron immediately came to his aid, holding him steady while Nagini soundlessly slithered to the floor.

Hermione took over the task of carrying the plate of stale bread chunks. The three humans and the large snake made the slow but steady journey outside, off the porch, and over the uneven terrain to the pond just forty meters beyond the empty barn. Nagini led the way but hung back once there so she didn’t agitate the flock of fowl.

Harry, despite his weakness and injuries, fairly glowed in the fresh air despite the autumn gloom. It was a long, slow, almost grueling process, but Ron fastidiously helped his brother-in-all-but-blood down to the pond, making sure he didn’t trip or stumble over the rough ground or into a gopher hole. Harry, surprisingly, didn’t hide his pain or get embarrassed at his weakness like he would in the Hogwarts infirmary. Only his friends could see him, and they knew better than anyone. There was no point in hiding.

The Veela barely kept his descent from standing to sitting just short of a fall by his grip on Ron’s arm to lower himself down. The ducks ignored them at first despite Harry’s steady bread lobbing. Then he accidentally hit one of the youngest, just barely grown out of its duckling fuzz and an obvious late-hatchling. The duck squawked and turned to examine what hit her, then voraciously gobbled it up.

For the better part of an hour, the flock of ducks marauded and mobbed the three mages, greedily chowing down on the bread they tossed to them, and eventually just handfed once a few waddled up on land. Hermione was interested and participated until the feather beings began tugging on her bushy mass of hair, and she stood and fled, not one to injure animals with magic unless she was in a life-threatening situation.

Ron sighed and stood. “I should follow. Send me a Patronus or your snake friend when you’re ready to come in.” He clapped Harry’s shoulder carefully and slowly ambled after his fleeing girlfriend.

Harry watched him go, then lay back and rested in the cool grass. Nagini slithered close and coiled herself around and under his shoulders and neck to soothe and support. The ducks took a while to ignore the serpent, wary of the predator, but they waddled close to preen at Harry’s unfurled wing feathers once assured she wouldn’t eat them.

Harry drifted and dozed as the sun sank.

~*~~*~*~*~~*~

All things considered, Severus’ Dark Mark removal went relatively well. He went in more apprehensively than Regulus had due to the history of ill-will between him and Harry. Harry later on informed him that he was willing to set aside everything that had transpired between them in favor of a more civilized if not amicable association. To be quite frank, they both had far worse—and too many at that—things to be worried about than what either had done or said to the other in the past. The Veela in him would rather focus its energy on something less petty than old grudges.

The professor agreed in the end.

The Potions Master sat through the ordeal with grim distrust and resigned silence. Despite the torture he’d had to endure as a result of the Dark Mark, however, it was surprisingly easier to eradicate than it had for Regulus. It wasn’t as deeply rooted to the man’s skin and soul. Hermione theorized that because of Severus’ allegiance to the Dark Lord had been broken so soon after being burned into him in the first place, and then remained dormant for over a decade, the curse was easier to break.

Harry had his own theories, but he stayed quiet as he watched Nagini gobble up the weaker serpent-like manifestation of the broken curse. During the removal, he’d noticed certain aspects in the Dark Mark that differed from the one once on Regulus. The instincts awakened by the Veela inheritance conveyed to him, through emotion more than anything, that this Dark Mark had been made mostly to inflict physical pain and to try to spy through Severus’ eyes, along with what seemed to be a cloud settled over positive emotions, resulting in a negative, bitter wizard, twisting his already pessimistic outlook on life and forcing it to fester. Regulus’ seemed to have been made to control impulses and to poison the mind—especially the portion of the brain that processes morals, ethics, and right-from-wrong.

Add in both wizards’ preconceptions about blood purity and their view on power, and all of the other little things that Voldemort preyed on to get others to follow him so long ago, and it was a Molotov cocktail of nastiness just amplified by a physical manifestation on skin.

He had no proof, however, and he’d only seen a slight difference in the lines of the Marks, so he kept quiet for now.

“Harry, are you feeling okay?” Ron asked, concern evident in his voice.

The Boy-Who-Lived snapped out of his own mind, blinking. He looked at the group, wondering how long he’d retreated into his thoughts. Regulus was picking carefully at the dried skin to remove the splotch of black on Severus’ arm, and the rest of them all watched Harry carefully. Nagini had returned to her now customary coil around the teen.

“Yeah, mate, I’m fine,” he assured them with what he felt was a tired grin. “Just got lost in my thoughts is all.”

“You have those?”

Harry threw a pillow at Ron with a halfhearted scowl. Ron easily batted it away, laughing, while Hermione rolled her eyes.

“So now’s all that’s left is the Malfoys,” Sirius remarked, drawing his legs up to his chest as he sat on the couch, sipping from his mug of what smelled like hot cocoa.

“How should we approach them with this particular topic, though?” Hermione questioned, a small frown furrowing her brow.

“Leave it to me,” Severus said suddenly. They turned to look at him, meeting the snarky arch of his brow, Regulus still bent over his forearm.

“That’s a brilliant idea,” Harry piped up, leaning back in his seat.

“Your cheek is uncalled for, Mr. Potter,” the Potions Master said in an unimpressed tone.

“No sir, I mean it.” The Veela stroked along Nagini’s shiny scales, admiring her coloring absently. “You out of all of us have a better understanding of how the Malfoys function as individuals and as a family. You have known them longer, and Nagini has told me that your magic has been bound in some oath to Mrs. Malfoy in some form or another. None of us are as good as persuasion as you, and my Veela senses tell me that that’s not just due to your mastery of Legilimency. You’re far better suited to this task.”

The Potions Master took pause, obviously not used to the last living Potter to be so _insightful._ The new Veela Harry took no offense, which he could see had made apprehensive Ron a little worried before he calmed, realizing his best mate wasn’t going to snark back.

Severus’ offer to speak to the Malfoys was unexpected but no less appreciated. Maybe there would be less of a fight with them if the Potions Master could explain the situation in a way that would appeal to them, or at least to Mr. Malfoy’s Pureblood sensibilities; he had been loyal to the psycho for so long that Harry presumed elder Malfoy would be the hardest of the three to convince. Once he was cracked down, it would take nothing to get Mrs. Malfoy and their son to follow his example.

Once it was decided, they turned to a different topic, trusting Snape’s gift of persuasion to solve the issue. After another hour or so of mild conversation, Harry felt fatigue wash over him like a gentle wave that didn’t ebb. His head lolled, and after the second time he had to jerk awake, Sirius decided to levitate his exhausted and still recovering godson up to his room. A few quiet spells had him dressed in pajamas and tucked under the covers. Nagini slithered close, self-appointed guardian curled up at the foot of his bed.

Harry was asleep before the Marauder was out of the room.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, this is not betaed. Let me know of any major issues with grammar and spelling. Enjoy!

_It took a while for Severus_ to get through Lucius Malfoy’s thick, stubborn skull, as they all had more or less expected. The Potions Master admitted later that Draco had been eager to have the recently engraved Dark Mark destroyed, but as with many instances, his father got in the way of the lad’s decisions.

Harry suspected that Narcissa Malfoy had a hand in convincing her husband, however. After years of trying to protect her son in any way she could, Harry was sure shed jump at the chance of erasing Lord Voldemort from Draco’s life in any way she knew.

In the end, Lucius caved under the combined influence of Snape’s persuasion, whatever it was Narcissa did or said, and the promise of Draco’s continued safety. It took nearly three days to wear him down, but they all knew it would have been far worse if any of the others had tried instead. Ron was probably the worst candidate, what with the feud between their families, with Hermione a close second.

“As long as the Potter boy shows respect to his betters,” he had sneered in defeat. Narcissa had reported patted his shoulder while rolling her eyes.

In the meanwhile, waiting for Severus’ triumph, Hermione took it upon herself to make sure she and her boys didn’t fall too far behind in their studies. The resident adults offered their services as well, all with different techniques so that they didn’t bore. Nagini whispered of spells and curses she had picked up from Voldemort, as well as bits and pieces of the scrolls and books he’d studied in her presence, offering what she could to help her new Master and his companions.

Harry continued to heal, although not as quickly as he’d like, or as quickly as he would if in Madame Pomfrey’s care, even with Snape’s expert potions. He could get around without help unless he was attempting stairs or overdid his physical activity in the day. He made daily trips to the pond, regardless of whether or not he brought treats for the ducks. His mental health was taking the longest, and he experienced night terrors as well as repeated anxiety attacks and flashbacks to his torture, even without provocation.

The whole of the household, sans Malfoys, combined their efforts to assist him through those, and they never once complained or lashed back, even when he caused them physical injury. It killed him inside when he saw a bruise on Hermione’s jaw, or saw the brief swollen condition of Ron’s sprained wrist before Severus helped to heal it.

It would be a long journey to full recovery, especially when it came to the matter of his post-traumatic stress condition, but he was lucky enough to have people who cared about him.

“Ah, Mr. Potter, I had wondered when I would run into you.”

Lucius Malfoy’s voice startled Harry out of his contented doze where he’d drifted off while reading in the sun, back planted firmly against an old stump with Nagini half-coiled around him and half around the stump. His wings rose defensively, feathers stiff and ready to harden into weapons. He forcibly calmed, relaxing back against the remnants of what used to be a thick tree. He placed his bookmark and shut the book.

“Hello, Mr. Malfoy,” he greeted politely. “It is nice to see you under a less stressful situation.”

“Hm, yes, I suppose, if you could call it that.” Lucius gazed down at him with an impassive expression, and Harry looked back calmly. The wind rustled gently around them, tugging Lucius’ silver-blonde hair and ruffling Harry’s unruly mop.

He looked older than Harry remembered ever seeing him. Despite his position on things, the war did not spare him. The lines of his face were deeper and more numerous, and Harry’s Veela sensed that the man was fighting the Dark Lord’s influence even now. It must have been a constant struggle, made worse by his bound magic. Despite the wealth and prestige he was known to possess, his clothes were mundane, without his usual flare, and his cloak even looked a little bit wrinkled.

Harry stayed quiet on the matter. Before all of this change he’d been forced into, he would have jumped on the chance to remark on it, to throw the first punch before anyone had the chance to start in on him. Now, he wisely observed and catalogued the information, focusing in on only the important things.

“You are quieter than I remember,” Lucius remarked after some time.

“I don’t have a lot to say, I suppose.” Harry shrugged, wings rustling, catching the attention of steel gray eyes.

“I never expected to see the noble wings of a Veela sprouting from your back,” the Pureblood continued. “You always seemed like such a Muggle. You befriended half-bloods and Muggleborns, those so far below your pedigree.”

“My mother was Muggleborn, sir,” Harry interjected, frowning, barely keeping the bite from his tone. “And I lived with Muggles. I don’t feel anyone is unworthy of my time or notice unless they go out of their way to make me or other people miserable. Even then, I would still pay attention, even if to correct whatever wrong they were performing. I am not a saint, and I am far from flawless, but I try to be the best I can be. I don’t want to be remembered only as the Boy-Who-Lived, or the boy to defeat the Dark Lord. I want to be remembered as Harry Potter. I don’t care if that means I’m a Muggle, a Veela, or a unicorn, as long as I’m me.”

“Very simple requests from a very special young man.”

Harry gave a little sardonic half-smile. “I never asked to be special, sir. All I wanted was a normal life with a few friends and a few things to call my own. The rest of this was unforeseen.” He set his book down on the ground, ducks quacking in the background, harmonizing with the rustling of the breeze through grass and leaves and the singing of other local birds.

“I have a feeling that there is a lot to you no one knows about.”

“No one took the time to ask.”

“Have you always had the power to remove the Dark Mark?” Lucius demanded, finally getting to the point of why he was out here in the first place, for which Harry had been waiting.

“I didn’t obtain this ability until I came into my Inheritance,” the teen responded truthfully, his demeanor calm. “And I only discovered it by accident. My Veela went the extra mile when I protected myself and Regulus from Nagini during our escape, and it destroyed the Horcrux inside her without killing her. So we experimented on Regulus, and we found out that Dark Marks are not as permanent when confronted with my magic. I don’t know if it is this way with all Veela, but then again, my Veela is mixed with something unknown, so it could be the affect of the other part of my blood.”

“You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you?” Lucius remarked with a poorly-concealed sneer.

Harry took a deep breath and released it slowly through his nose. Nagini raised her head, eyeballing Lucius as her Master’s irritation washed over her senses. “ _He would not taste good, Master,_ ” she complained after a moment.

“ _I do not need you to eat him, Nagini_ ,” Harry replied with a chuckle, which sounded a little whispery in the middle of Parseltongue.

She grumbled, subsiding, but she kept distrustfully watching Malfoy, who had tensed up with the sound of Parseltongue rolling off of Harry’s lips. It even looked like he had a bit of nervous sweat on his upper lip.

“Look, Mr. Malfoy,” Harry began, shifting slightly as he looked back at the Death Eater. “I never wanted to be anything more than what a normal person was. I was little more than invisible until I got my letter from Hogwarts. And then I’m more, I have friends and teachers who actually _care_ about their students’ wellbeing, and even though I had no clue what I was thrown into, I was _happy_. The rest of this, I could care less about. Once I know the Dark Lord won’t be coming back, I plan on focusing more on my life and what it can offer me, and not just on survival and what some other wizard is going to do to me if I don’t practice ‘constant vigilance.’”

He slowly stood up, and Nagini adjusted position behind him so she could still observe Malfoy. The older man was taller than Harry, but green eyes met steel gray with no problem. “If I can help others maintain better quality of life, not just _survive_ , then that’s all the better.” His voice was quiet, but even he could hear the ring of truth and determination. “Even you deserve better than what a madman has to offer…” He licked his lips and pressed on. “And your _son_ deserves better than to be branded with the mark of a man that would sacrifice him in a heartbeat if it meant saving his own pathetic skin.”

He would have walked away then, all dramatic like he’d seen in movies during the few times he’d been able to sneak telly time at the Dursleys’ in the middle of the night with Silencing charms. Instead he was caught by another voice, although this time it didn’t startle him.

“Thank you, Mr. Potter,” Mrs. Malfoy said, soundlessly approaching from the direction of the farmhouse. She was beautiful, even with the lines of stress and worry aging her face. She made even those simple clothes look elegant, and she had her hands folded in front of her as she seemed to glide over the uneven ground.

“Hello, Mrs. Malfoy,” he greeted, turning his body so he could acknowledge both adults.

“Good afternoon. Lucius, I do hope you aren’t bothering young Mr. Potter. After all, he will be doing us a great service soon.” Her voice was cool as she regarded her husband, and Harry could sense an inkling of distrust between them.

“Narcissa, the boy has no idea what he’s doing,” Lucius said defensively, just this side of snarling. “He admitted he found out he could do this by _accident_. What guarantee do we have that this will work on us? I see no sense in going through with this until we know for sure that he knows what he’s doing and that it isn’t some fluke or trick.”

“He destroyed a Horcrux without killing its host, which had never been done before,” Narcissa reminded him, “and both Regulus and Severus have been released from the Dark Lord’s sway.” She leaned slightly forward, and even Harry had to resist stepping back. “If you want to remain married and a part of Draco’s life, you _will_ allow Mr. Potter to remove that curse from your arm. Either way, Draco will have his removed, no matter your thoughts on the matter.”

She straightened, regaining her calm exterior. Harry had a feeling that if not for the Dark Lord’s influence, Narcissa Black-Malfoy would have been the reigning power in the household, and Lucius wouldn’t have had a pot to piss in. As it stood, with her husband’s magic bound and the promise of the Dark Marks’ removal, Narcissa was taking charge with an iron grip.

He wondered what changes that would entail for everyone involved, inside and outside of the ties of family.

“It’s entirely possible that this is a last ditch effort by the curse in the Dark Mark to continue whatever task the Dark Lord imbued it with,” Harry said, addressing Narcissa while keeping Lucius in his peripheral view. “When I worked on Regulus and Professor Snape, I noticed there were very tiny differences in their Marks. I can’t be sure, but it seems that the Dark Lord gave them each a different Mark so he could control them and their actions better. It preyed on weaknesses and strengthened any negative character traits. I didn’t mention it to Professor Snape because he would want proof, but without the Marks there anymore, I wouldn’t have been able to show him what I meant.”

He glanced over briefly at Lucius, who had turned stony-faced except for the grinding of his teeth, a muscle in his jaw twitching. “Without the connection to the Dark Lord, and without his magic’s natural resistance to the curse, the Dark Magic coursing through the Mark could be trying to defend itself to continue its task and maintain control over its host.”

“If that is the case, Mr. Potter, then I’d say the sooner the Marks are removed, the better.” It wasn’t visible, but Narcissa’s spine seemed to straighten with her determination. She was definitely not one you would want to go up against.

“ _She is strong witch,_ ” Nagini whispered. “ _I admire her. I would be sad to eat her._ ” And Harry had to laugh at the last part.

“What did she say, Mr. Potter?” Mrs. Malfoy inquired, sounding genuinely curious and a little amused.

“She said you are a strong witch that she admires and that she would be sad if she had to eat you,” the Veela replied honestly with a small smile. “Earlier, she told me that your husband ‘would not taste good.’”

Narcissa glanced over at her husband, who looked scandalized, speculatively. “No, I imagine he wouldn’t,” she agreed.

“That snake is a menace,” Lucius hissed, his cane raised slightly as though prepared to strike in defense if needed.

“No more that you are, dear.”

Harry grinned, reaching back to touch Nagini’s head affectionately. “She was always taught to protect her master, and if eating someone is the way to do so, she won’t hesitate. I am trying to teach her that it’s not necessary with me.”

“You should have killed her when you had the chance,” Lucius spat, gazing distrustfully at the calm serpent, body tense.

Harry turned and offered an arm for Nagini to climb, coiling herself around him with affectionate hisses. “Answering every situation with that kind of attitude, and spouting those type of statements, will get you nowhere in life, Mr. Malfoy,” he remarked, observing him coolly. He silently cast a Feather-light charm on Nagini’s heavy body so he wouldn’t have to struggle to support her. His wings shifted in irritation. “After the war, people will be hard up to throw you in Azkaban for the things you have done and said and participated in. Spouting those kinds of statements will only work against you.”

“You are very wise for your age, Mr. Potter,” Narcissa commented, impressed if only slightly.

“Please, call me Harry,” the Boy-Who-Lived requested, eyes turning earnestly towards her. “And I only feel like what I just said was common sense. For the longest time, Mr. Malfoy has been the root of many problems during this war. If he wants to come out of this relatively unscathed and avoid incarceration, he’ll have to start playing it smart. No one is going to believe a second claim of being under the Imperius curse. Hopefully, the removal of the Dark Mark will aid him in regaining his senses.”

“One can only hope,” Mrs. Malfoy agreed, cutting off her husband’s no doubt scathing retort with a sharp look. “If you insist on being addressed as Harry, then I would like to extend the privilege to address me as Narcissa.”

Harry blinked, surprised, but when he saw that Mrs. Malfoy was completely serious—and really, why would she jest?—and Mr. Malfoy outraged, a small smile spread across his face. “Agreed.”

And Narcissa smiled back.

~*~~*~*~*~~*~

They decided to take care of Draco’s Mark the next afternoon. It gave Harry time to prepare, to center himself. He didn’t know what seeing Draco, being near him, after all of what had happened so recently will do to him. Seeing Lucius hadn’t given him any adverse effects, surprisingly, like flashbacks or a panic attack, but every person was different, and he wasn’t sure who all had been sent to torture him. If Draco had been forced to do it, and his Veela recognized him, there was no telling what would happen.

Narcissa sensed his apprehension and assured him all would be well. The only thing that truly made him feel better, however, was the knowledge that there were three strong, very capable adult wizards, plus Narcissa, available to handle any situation should something occur.

The messy-haired teen tugged at his raven locks, gnawing on his lip as he paced in his room for half an hour. He hated that he was more or less having an anxiety attack over essentially _nothing_. He was like a basket case right now. His heart fluttered, racing, and his wings were stiff with ruffled feathers. He moved restlessly, as if staying in constant motion would make his irrational brain and emotions calm. Nagini kept asking him from her position on the bed who she needed to eat to make him feel better, and he wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry in response.

A knock sounded on his door, and he made a wordless sound. Sirius entered, all concern and warmth, and he came over to circle Harry in his arms. Harry instinctively resisted, keening, but Sirius adjusted where his hands rested, and he murmured soothingly, restraining him without caging.

“It’s okay, Harry,” his godfather murmured, and it sank into his bones. “It’s okay to be terrified or worried. It’s okay to feel weak, even when it has nothing to do with physical strength.” He cupped Harry’s sweaty, pinched face, pressing his nose close. “No one has told you this in your life, but _I’m_ telling you that’s okay. We’ll love you the same, even if you freak out on us every now and then. Even if it’s for no reason.”

“But I don’t _want_ to freak out for no reason,” Harry whimpered, grasping onto Sirius’ shirt, to ground himself, to keep him close.

“I know, Bambi, but no one would. It’s normal. But you’ll be okay in the end, because we’ll still be here. And if someone _does_ leave, then they weren’t worth keeping around and you didn’t need them anyway. You’re too good for people who give up on you over a little thing like an anxiety attack.”

Harry smiled tremulously, fighting back emotional tears. “Has anyone even told you that you’re the best godfather ever?”

“No, but I wouldn’t mind if someone did.” Sirius’ face stretched in a cheeky grin.

“You’re the best godfather even,” Harry concluded, hugging him tightly, feeling his insides settle. “You called me Bambi?”

Sirius gave a wet laugh and pulled back a little, running his fingers through Harry’s hair. “We all did when you were a baby. Even Wormtail. His betrayal… It killed us all inside. None of us can understand why he did what he did. He used to fall asleep on the couch with you on his chest. He brushed your hair. He was terrible at singing, but he sang for you.” He pushed Harry’s hair back and kissed Harry’s nose. “You were precious to all of us, and you still are to me and Moony. You’ll always be our Bambi.”

“Even though I’m a bird now?”

“Yes.”

Harry laughed and pulled back, rubbing his face. “You’re crazy. I love you, Padfoot.”

Sirius’ expression softened, losing years from his face, eyes affectionate. “I love you, too, Bambi.”

They were silent for a while, comfortable with each other, and then Harry sighed. “Probably should get down there, huh?”

“Well, they’re all down there, and Malfoy, Jr.’s got his shirt sleeves rolled up. He looks right ready to piss himself.” He grinned wolfishly, and Harry laughed. “It might be nice that you pop in for a few ticks.”

“Well if needs must.” Harry nodded and cast a charm to freshen up and cover the fact that he’d been having a mini-breakdown moments ago. He tucked his wand away and allowed Nagini to drape herself around him. Casting another Feather-weight charm on her 110 pound body, he followed Sirius out of the room. He counted his footsteps in his head to remain calm, wings forced to relax and spread to help keep his balance.

They made it down the stairs, and when Harry looked up from where he’d been walking, it was like a punch to the gut. A literal one, where he flew back and hit the wall, a raptor’s cry ripping from him as his fire-tinged wings lit aflame for real. Nagini dropped to ground, abandoning ship, but he hardly registered it.

His eyes stared into Draco Malfoy’s, emerald orbs flashing gold and brown erratically. Draco’s pale blues went wide with alarm and confusion. His senses zeroed in, colors brighter than he remembered, his sense of smell sharpened. He could hear, through the rush of his roaring blood, the concerned shouts of the people in the room. Lucius surged forward, hand clamping on Draco’s shoulder to pull him further away, and Harry roared, metallic and enraged, instincts tearing through him.

He flew across the room, and Narcissa tore her husband away from her son. Alternatively, she shoved Draco forward, right into Harry’s arms, and Harry curled his smaller body and enormous wings around the taller, terrified blonde.

As soon as they touched, the rage and high intensity emotions calmed, not gone but not running rampant, soothed by the feel of his mate in his arms. He gasped, shuddering, legs coiled around Draco’s, one arm clutching while the other hand cupped the back of Draco’s head tenderly, fingers burying in silken hair. His wings, suddenly larger than ever, shielded them both from sight and boxing in the scent and feel of each other.

“Mine,” Harry whispered, and everything seemed to go silent for what seemed like an eternity.

This was his mate. His destined. The one fate had made just for him. He was his childhood rival, the boy whose hand he’d rejected all those years ago because he saw the qualities of a bully he’d been trying to escape from. The one who’d started the Potter Stinks campaign, who had done everything in his power to curb the Golden Trio’s progress, whose father would rather see Harry dead than face a life free from a Dark Lord.

All of that fell away. It didn’t matter. It was all in the _past_ , and aside from learning from the mistakes that were made and remembering all the good and happy times, the past _didn’t matter_.

What mattered was the tranquility spreading through him, the contentment soothing his Veela as the flames lighting along his feathers died away. The scent of his mate, the feel of him, the sound of a strongly beating heart and healthy lungs. The touch of tentative hands resting against his back.

And the burn of a magical taint not yet healed on the skin of his mate’s forearm.

Harry dropped down off of Draco, fighting a blush embarrassment now that his mind and emotions had calmed, his senses returning. He stepped back, gaze dropping to Draco’s arms, pale but surprisingly tone. He was taller by six centimeters since the last time Harry had seen him, and he was filling out into the body of a young adult, whereas he had been a part of the group of lanky and somewhat awkward teens their year consisted of.

He carefully guided Draco to his seat where Nagini already awaited. She coiled around into his lap and around his torso, patiently waiting for when he would need to consume the Dark Mark’s serpentine manifestation. When Draco tensed up at the sight of the former Horcrux, Harry stroked the Pureblood’s wrist gently.

He felt like he was sleepwalking, moving through a fog. Intuitively, he knew it was from a combination of his anxiety attack upstairs, the contentment of his Veela, and the thrumming of his agitated magic. It was overwhelming, and it put him in a bit of a daze. He imagined he’d be exhausted afterwards.

The others hovered around them, watching carefully, wary of the unpredictable Veela with fiery wings and blazing green eyes. They were careful not to get too close to Draco. Regulus and Severus both had their wands out, Lucius looked ready to pop a vessel, and Ron and Hermione were torn between defending their friend and keeping him from doing something stupid. Narcissa was the only one that seemed calm and unconcerned, restraining her husband from doing something equally dumb.

“I’m not going to lie to you,” Harry said quietly. “This will not be pleasant. Both Regulus and Professor Snape experienced pain when I removed their Marks.”

“Momentary pain is better than that of a lifelong torture,” Draco responded in his own whisper, speaking for the first time since Harry had come into his Inheritance, and it made Harry want to trill and croon, his stomach fluttering wildly, eyes drifting shut for a moment as his skin prickled with goose bumps.

“ _A wise boy,_ ” Nagini whispered, rubbing her head against Harry’s elbow, as though to keep him grounded in the here and now.

Harry took a breath, two, and Draco took his own steadying inhale. “Keep breathing with me,” Harry advised. He skimmed his fingertips delicately over the lines of the ominous tattoo. “It seemed to help Regulus when I started on his Mark.” Only when Draco nodded did the Veela push his magic through his fingers.

It was easier to do, as this was his third go at it, and yet harder than ever. His Veela hated seeing his mate in pain so soon after being reunited. He had to push through the reluctance and the feeling of slowly dying inside to continue thrusting magic into the evil scarring Draco’s otherwise flawless skin. He focused on his inhalations, keeping it steady to guide Draco’s breathing.

For his part, Draco didn’t make a sound. He bit his lip, breathing through his nose, and clenched his free hand into a white-knuckled fist. His skin dappled with sweat, and his features pinched, but he didn’t make it any harder on Harry and his Veela instincts, for which the raven teen was grateful.

His Dark Mark was designed for long distance torture and mental and emotional detriment. It was aimed towards increased sense of guilt and a debilitating depression that likely would have leeched the life from him. The deeper Harry sank, the angrier he became. No, it wasn’t just that. Voldemort had aimed to literally suck the youth and strength out of Draco to extend his own longevity, the stolen magic increasing the strength of his own while improving his health and appearance. By the looks of it, Draco would have become a dried out and empty husk within months of the exposure.

“ _We cast you out_ ,” he hissed, his magic swelling, thrumming dangerously through the room, voice a barely contained snarl.

Nagini lifted her head, swaying, prepared and ready to spring. “ _We cast you out_ ,” she repeated, just as she had the past two times.

The entity in the Dark Mark writhed, fighting Harry harder than he thought it would have been capable of for being such a new Mark. He grasped Draco’s forearm, forcing more magic down the connection, the lightning audibly buzzing, having a hard time maintaining his breathing now. There’d be a bruise on Draco’s arm for sure.

“ _We cast you out! Be gone!_ ” Harry roared, barely aware of Nagini’s voice joining his in perfect unison.

The serpent that sprang from Draco’s arm was faster than any of them had been prepared for. It flew at Harry’s face with lightning speed, and it lacerated his skin before squirming to attempt to get into Harry’s mouth, its black mass like razorblades. Nagini grabbed the creature by the middle and threw it and herself to the floor, wrestling it, making sure that every part of it went with her so she could consume the evil entirely.

“Harry!” Hermione cried, and she was there in an instant, pressing her scarf to his cheek, his sliced lips, and neck to stem his blood flow.

Draco’s hand clutched his, and he shifted out of the way to let Regulus and Severus get close without removing his presence from Harry’s. One worked on his face, the other on his neck, to stop the bleeding and close the flesh. Harry’s wings flapped in halfhearted protest, disliking how crowded he suddenly was.

Sirius brought Hermione aside to help remove the blood from her scarf. Lucius tried to lead Draco away from Harry, but the youngest Malfoy scowled and wrenched away from his grip. Narcissa admonished her husband, drawing him away, and Ron cursed the man as well, arguing with him.

Their voices blurred together as the emotional and magical exhaustion hit him. He moaned, fingers squeezing in Draco’s grasp before going limp as he passed out.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I am very aware of just how long it has been since I posted it. I thank everyone for all the comments and encouragement you have left. I have lost my inspiration for this fic, if it wasn't noticeable, but I am hoping I can get it finished. I have forgotten what my endgame was going to be for it, so I'm currently working on getting something else figured out for it.
> 
> Before I finished this chapter, I tried to go back to fix a few errors in the previous chapters, but I know I still missed stuff, and this one is far from perfect as well. This is still unbeta-ed. Please let me know if you see something that should definitely be changed. I accept all the help I get, even if I don't specifically thank you for it.
> 
> I hope you enjoy this long overdue chapter. I hope I can get the next one up far faster. Again, thank you for your patronage and kind words.

 

_Harry awoke to the faint sounds of arguing_  filtering up from downstairs. He frowned and slowly sat up, trying to make sense of what was going on. His memory of the last time he was conscious filtered into his foggy brain, and he perks up a little with his Veela, pride trickling through him at having unbound his mate from the reign of terror of a psychopath.

The knowledge also brought the thought that the yelling downstairs may be due to the fact that it was Lucius’ turn to be cleansed and unbound. The man was particularly resistant to the idea, and Harry could only hope it was due to the evil influence of the mark blemishing his skin and soul.

Harry sighed. He would really rather not have to force the man, but it was dangerous to keep one who was marked among the others. If the Dark Lord took a notion to track any of the Death Eaters via their marks, he may not be able to get their exact location due to the protections surrounding the area, but he could get damn close, too close for anyone’s comfort. Harry wasn’t willing to risk them all because one bigoted Pureblood wanted to stay under the rule of a tyrant who could give a shit less about anyone but himself. Lucius was outnumbered; even his wife wanted him free of the dark magic binding him to a crazy man with no soul. 

Eventually, he decided that he couldn’t just sit about while a verbal war was going on downstairs. He stood from the bed and limped a bit as he dressed himself. Just as he was about to walk out into the corridor, Nagini draping herself over his shoulders and back, surprisingly light for her size even in his weakened state, a knock sounds on the door. He paused, then opened the barrier. Draco looked surprised at such a prompt response but quickly composes himself. 

“I came to see if you were awake yet,” he said calmly, eyes trailing over him searchingly, silver tracing over the places that the dark magic had lacerated him. Self-consciously, Harry put his hand to the spots to see if they were healed, if there was a texture difference that would be telltale of a new scar. Draco continued, “Are you hungry?” 

A small piece of him, the definite Veela inside him, fluttered and preened at his mate’s concern for his well-being, even so small as to ask if he needed nourishment. A faint smile quirked the corners of his mouth, and he had to refrain from stretching his wings forward to encircle Draco, ending in just a twitch of the feathers. “Yeah, I could definitely use something to eat.” 

Draco nodded, and emerald eyes caught the aborted twitch of his hand, as if he'd wanted to return the gesture in some way. “Come on then.” The blond man turned to lead the way downstairs. Harry followed two paces behind, running his hand over Nagini’s softly hissing head. 

_“Good mate,”_ she stated in approval, and Harry nodded proudly. 

Draco even had the presence of mind to make sure that Harry could make it down the steps without tumbling. Again, Nagini hissed in approval, and Harry’s heart fluttered despite his concentration on walking down the steps one at a time. He breathed a sigh of relief as he reached the bottom safely, and he quirked another smile at Draco. The blond nodded and continued on his way to the kitchen, Harry yet again trailing behind, trying to keep his wings from trailing the floor. As expected the sound of the arguing was louder, and he resigned himself to having to sort out this mess sooner rather than later. 

“What time is it, by the way?” the Boy-Who-Lived inquired as they stepped into the scene where all the yelling was apparently taking place. 

“It is 11am, Harry,” Narcissa replied gently, seemingly unaffected by the verbal dispute involving Lucius, Sirius, and, surprisingly, Severus. Hermione and Ron were seated at the table, watching the adults with well-warranted wariness, and Regulus was absent. “I applied my skills in healing to your wounds, and by the end of today, you should have no trace of what transpired. You slept heavily during the night. I imagine you are rather famished.” 

“I could eat, yeah,” he agreed, smiling at the motherly woman. It reminded him the smallest bit of Molly Weasley. 

She waved her hand at a few plates on the counter he hadn’t had time to notice yet. “Help yourself. Everyone else has either eaten their fill already, or has decided that acting like old, loudmouthed fools is far more important than the first meal of the day.” She shot a disdainful look at the four men who were too engrossed with their debate to take heed of it. 

The Veela took one of the free seats beside Hermione, well away from the four quarreling men so that he could watch as well as have time to dodge if anything went flying, magical or otherwise. He scooped some of the fried eggs onto his plate, along with a few slices of bacon, a buttered scone, and poured himself some of the tea that still seemed to be steaming. Nagini slithered from his body to slip off elsewhere to either hunt or maybe rest now that she didn't have to watch over him while he slept. Draco sat on his left side, casual as can be, and yet again, Harry ignored his Veela urges, this time to wrap the other teen in his wings. He tucked into his breakfast, his stomach greedily taking it all in now that he had the food in front of him. He hadn’t realized just how hungry he was until now, but then again, he’d suffered worse at the Dursleys; this was nothing compared to hunger pains he'd suffered over the summers. 

After a few minutes, once his hunger had been quelled, stomach no longer that angry, tight ball of need, Harry picked up his head to address the table. “So how long have they been at this?” 

“It actually started last night,” Draco replied. 

“Yeah, they packed it in around 1am,” Ron said, grabbing a scone from the plate still hovering at the table in case Harry wanted another. 

“Are they making any head way?” 

“Father is very stubborn.” Draco glared as Ron snorted at the understatement. 

“I have a feeling that it’s not all your father, unfortunately,” Harry admitted. 

“What do you mean?” Hermione asked, ever the inquisitive one, even though she didn’t turn her bushy-haired head to face him as they spoke. 

“A large part of this is probably all due to the Dark Mark’s influence over his thoughts and behavior. The fact that he has been under its control for so long only exacerbated the situation. When I perform the ‘exorcism’, it will most likely fight me the hardest out of all them.” His wings fluttered in some agitation, hand and fork scooping egg into his mouth. 

“But you are confident in your ability to remove the mark from my husband, correct?” Narcissa pressed, eyes sharp as she watched Harry consume his meal. “Regulus and Severus had the mark almost as long as Lucius, perhaps falling short by a month or so between them.” 

“That may be so, but the magic didn’t latch onto them as strongly. Yes, they were definitely effected, but I believe Severus' ability as a Legilimens allowed him to block a large part of the corruption. Regulus’ connection with Severus as well as his love for his brother despite the evil his family seemed to steep themselves in also allowed him to be partially resistant. Draco hadn’t long been subjected to the tainted influence, but Riddle wanted Draco to suffer, so he made that particular curse sharper, more volatile.” 

Narcissa’s eyes could cut glass as she shot a look from her son to the Boy-Who-Lived. “What do you mean?” she demanded, voice frosty. 

Nagini tightened her coils around him briefly. Draco’s eyes were boring into him as well. He set down his fork and sipped his tea before replying. “The Dark Lord designed each Dark Mark differently. Severus’ mark was used to take advantage of his knowledge, sharp mind, and also to try and spy directly through his eyes, but his talent in Occlumency prevented Snake-face to see very clearly. Regulus’ was like a poison and a cloud of misery meant to dull his reasoning, morals, ethics, and his sense of self. 

“Draco’s version, as it wasn’t a direct Dark Mark per se, was ultimately created to suck the life out of him slowly to help heal Riddle’s body of the damage being killed and then resurrected caused him. Draco would have increasingly felt tired and useless, wasting away mentally and physically. If he had gone on long enough, he would have either succumbed to the leeching of his energy and soul, or the madness and depression would have taken its toll.” He didn’t think he needed to explain exactly what that meant, confirmed by the twin looks of horror on their faces. Even Ron, who had no love for any of the Malfoys, looked a little sick. 

“What?” Lucius suddenly demanded, voice harsh and clear, enough so that Harry knew that it wasn’t at all included on the argument he was having with the room’s other occupants. 

Harry calmly looked at the older blond male, whose icy eyes pierced him through like a spear. “Voldie wanted to suck the life out of your child. Because he refused the Dark Mark, he had no use for Draco, other than to sap him of his strength, magical energy, and his youth.” He gestured at Draco’s face. “If you’ll take a close look, you’ll notice that his stress lines have faded remarkably, and although he is naturally pale, it is no longer the pallor of oncoming death. The positive effects of being freed from the dark magic is already doing a world of good. He’ll be back to normal in no time once he’s had a chance to rest and eat properly. His weight and musculature will take a while to return to normalcy, but he won't look like he's about to topple from exhaustion." 

"Really, I'm surprised you didn't notice your precious and only son's decline," Hermione said in her most snobbish voice, nose lifted haughtily. Her gaze was every bit as cold as a Malfoy's. Harry silently reached over to pat her hand, mostly to keep her from saying too much more. 

Lucius of course reacted like a child would, sputtering and throwing a tantrum not at all befitting his stature as a Pureblood Wizard. He didn't even seem to realize that he was embarrassing himself. Harry's feathers ruffled defensively, even as the Veela watched carefully, seeing the little things that were clearly not the man, but what the dark magic was turning him into. He was erratic, no longer the controlled and sophisticated aristocrat he was raised to be, instead an impulsive and petty blond whirlwind of impropriety and emotion. Harry didn't bother listening to the words that he spewed, didn't pay attention to what the others said in return. He was more focused on the actions and the dark aura roiling around him, the Dark Mark seeming to pulse with malice. 

"You see that right there is why he needs the Mark removed," Harry said in a quiet voice. Draco seemed to be the only one to hear, turning his head slightly towards Harry, since he wasn't involved in the screaming matches going on around them. "He's not the Malfoy we know he was raised to be. He's getting worse, too. What used to be culture and decorum and lofty contempt is now an ugly amalgamation of venom and hatred. It's almost sad." 

Beside him, Draco nodded quietly, and Harry could only imagine what it was like to watch the man you called father slip down a slope to insanity. He reached a hand under the table to lightly press the back of his fingers to the outside of Draco's thigh. A silent, unseen gesture of solidarity and comfort for his mate. it was a gesture that could be ignored if the other didn't want to acknowledge it; Harry made sure that his mate had choices, even in the smallest, like ignoring little touches. 

A small burst of joy lit in his chest when mere seconds later, Draco's closest hand dropped to hook pinkies with Harry. The blond didn't turn his head, nor did his expression change, but the gentle touch of his uncallused hand was enough to make Harry's feathers fluff and ruffle, his stomach housing insane butterflies. 

Suddenly, Narcissa's voice cut through the clamor in the small kitchen. "Lucius Abraxas Malfoy, if you do not settle down and allow Mr. Potter to remove that cursed blemish from your arm, you can expect divorce papers on your doorstep the very day after the end of this war." Everyone stilled, eyes on the blonde Witch, standing tall and proud and completely serious, eyes narrowed on her husband. "I refuse to remain married to a man who would rather stay pledged to a madman than protect his own family. the very idea that you would continue to follow the Dark Lord in light of finding out exactly what he planned for your only son and heir is preposterous. It is mad, and that is not the man I wish to see upon my deathbed. In fact, I think I'd rather send you through the Vanishing Cabinet. At the very least you would deserve it for the hell you have put our family through." A fine tremor of revulsion rippled through her, almost unnoticeable in the face of her rage. The love of a mother for her children was fearsome, and Narcissa Black nee Malfoy was no exception. 

"Mum..." Draco was at a loss, and Harry didn't think he'd seen his mother this angry, especially not on his behalf. He had wide eyes, surprise and bafflement evident. 

"I am tired," Narcissa admitted. "I am tired of fighting my own husband to keep our son safe. I will no longer do so, not when an out has been presented. I have no qualms in divorcing you, even if it means I would face ridicule amongst our peers. I have no doubt that Draco will come out unscathed, especially at the side of his Veela mate, who also happens to be the Boy-Who-Lived. I have no doubt their bond will be the best thing that could happen to either of them. You, however, are destined to be a lonely old man with a Dark Mark staining your soul for the rest of your life. If you aren't given the Kiss for your crimes, that is." She looked at him with disgust she didn't even try to hide at this point. 

Lucius was, understandably, flabbergasted. It was a good look for him for a change. Harry was hard-pressed not to laugh. Narcissa had always been strong and independent in her own right, never the shrinking violet the deceased Malfoys likely had chosen her to be. Even so, she had most likely never threatened a divorce or even stood so vehemently against her husband before. Hermione looked positively giddy, always a sucker for shows of feminine strength and intelligence.  

"You can't possibly be serious, Narcissa," Lucius stammered finally, not quite grasping what his wife had just told him. "We have been married for 22 years. Surely our marriage means more to you than that, to throw it away because some upstart thinks he can do better for the Wizarding World than what our Dark Lord can!" 

"I'm as serious as a heart attack," Narcissa replied coolly, and Harry can't help the snort of laughter at the Muggle phrase from her regal lips. She didn't deign to acknowledge his outburst, which he didn't mind in the slightest. "And make no mistake, I love you dearly. That will likely never change. Our marriage is very important to me. It is not more important than Draco's life. My loyalty will forever lie with my flesh and blood. I did not suffer 8 months carrying him inside me and four months in hospital just to allow him be absorbed by a megalomaniac who only cares for his own sense of justice and pride. Tom Riddle was never my Lord. He will never see a modicum of loyalty from me, and especially not after the attempt on Draco's life." 

Harry could see that none of this was really sinking in. the more Lucius fought, the more hurt and distress he could feel leaking from his mate, like waves of heat from a furnace. It was that pain that made the Veela stand, drawing attention to himself once more. The blond aristocrat's lip immediately curls in a disgusted sneer. Draco looked like he wanted to stand up too, but Harry put a firm hand on his shoulder to keep him in place.  

"I was hoping that you would see reason, Mr. Malfoy, but it's become quite clear that the Dark Magic in your brand is keeping you from seeing reason," he spoke bluntly. His body was relaxed, easy. He could see his snake smoothly, silently, moving behind the three adult wizards on the other side of the room. "I think it's time that I just take matters into my own hands. You can be angry about it later." He flicked his wings in a sharp gesture, and Nagini struck.  

She wrapped her enormous body around Lucius in the serpentine grip of an anaconda, and Lucius' cane fell out of his grip. Severus and Sirius, startled, dodged out of the way as the snake and blond fell to the ground. Draco lurched to his feet, and Ron and Hermione shouted in concern; Narcissa remained the only one standing calm and placid while Harry walked around the table to crouch beside the human-and-scales pile. 

He reached out and snatched up Lucius' flailing arm, the one with the Dark Mark, and he clamped both hands over it, tight and unforgiving, refusing to release until it was gone. He clamped his lips tightly shut to prevent his hiss of pain from escaping. This Mark _burned._  It was fighting harder than all the others, and Lucius screeched like Harry was dragging his soul from his bones, which he very well could be with how deeply entrenched the Dark Mark's roots were. Harry hunched his body and felt his wings harden around them, sheltering them from view.  

_"Be ready, Nagini,"_  he ground out raggedly, clenching his teeth against the pain. He felt her tighten around Lucius, though not enough to asphyxiate the man, so he wouldn't escape and writhe too much. His magic lashed out against the evil tying Malfoy to the Dark Lord, killing it off ruthlessly despite how it lashed out and fought him. Blackness bubbled up from between his fingers and dripped onto the floor. 

"Severus, contain it!" he shouted desperately. He didn't know enough wandless spells to make sure the black goop that bubbled and splattered on the kitchen tile didn't seep into the floor or try to escape the vicinity. The Potions Master is quick to snap out a spell, and electrical network spread over the substance to keep it trapped, allowing the rest of it to drop inside the space but not escape out.  

The Dark Mark started to move up Lucius' arm. It was literally crawling away from Harry, trying to hide, and he wasted no time in ripping the sleeve of the man's robe off. He hissed between his teeth in Parseltongue, commanding the evil-soaked ink to cease, and Nagini repeated the command to strengthen it. Electricity zapped from his fingers to attack the sentient tattoo, and the snake there lifted its head up and sank fangs into his right hand.  

Harry shouted in pain, and Lucius' face drained of all color, watching in horror as the Dark Mark lifted up off his skin. The skull had melted away, dripping into the net Severus had created while the snake fought against its own demise. Harry twisted his body around to plant his feet against Lucius' legs, using the leverage to pull his body away. His free hand gripped the ink-snake's neck, keeping it from retreating back to the safety of Lucius' body. He could see how the arm distorted, nearly pulling from the shoulder socket. The thing was literally trying to tear Lucius apart. 

_"We cast you out,"_ Harry and Nagini snarled together in the Language of the Serpents. _"We cast you out! We cast you out! We--"_

The ink-snake snapped free of Lucius' body, and Harry fell back, skidding a few centimeters away from the sudden release. He gasped, struggling fro a new reason as the serpent tried to delve into his own flesh. Nagini, quick as mercury, released Lucius and dove for the black entity. She wrestled it, keeping it from delving any deeper into him while his lightning-laced fingers strove to dig the latched-in fangs from his hand. It was hard not to panic, but Harry clamped down on his beating heart and whirling emotions, focusing on killing the thing trying to possess him. His nerve-endings burned, like molten lava was replacing his blood cells and scorching his arteries. 

Ron, Hermione, Sirius, and Severus circled them, wands drawn, and they each start saying their own containment spells and destruction-based spells, attacking the Dark Magic desperately trying to burrow into Harry's arm. Most rebounded or were absorbed into the creature's body, though those that did didn't seem to lend it strength, thankfully, apparently just going void like when Nagini consumed the Dark Magic. 

A slamming door announced Regulus' arrival, and he shouted something that Harry couldn't make out in his focus and fear. He brought his feet up to curl around the body of the dripping ink-snake just in front of Nagini's snout, trying to lend the strength in his legs to pulling the thing away from his arm. It writhed wildly, screeching like something distorted under water but nothing like the distorted scream of the lake merfolk. 

 A sudden blast from the creature blew them and Nagini back, a piece of it remaining in her mouth, which she immediately gobbled up.  

Harry screamed and shoved his magic into his arm, blisters bubbling up on his skin from his own magic, but it attacked the serpent from it's fangs down. It screamed and released its hold in his skin as it lit on fire, and he tossed it in the air as soon as he felt the fangs pop. Nagini snatched it and consumed its flaming body like she had all the others. Then she scooped up the black essence still bubbling and roiling on the floor, the containment net breaking and laying in silver threads on the floor. 

Panting, exhausted, Harry fell back to rest flat on the floor, only to land halfway back on something that decidedly was not floor. Tilting his head back, emerald eyes locked on silver. Draco had gone to his knees behind Harry somewhere during the altercation, and now Harry was half-reclined against his thighs and lower torso. After brief hesitance, Draco wrapped his arms around Harry's slumped shoulders, ignoring the limp wings as he sheltered Harry, holding him in a trembling embrace. Harry sighed, his uninjured arm coming up to clasp around Draco's forearm. His eyes closed for a few moments, just breathing now that the panic and fear was ebbing away. 

Blood dripped from his hand, the blisters having busted and bleeding as much as the puncture wounds from the fangs. Sweat slid down his face, nerves tingling from adrenaline, and his head buzzed with the aftereffects of his terror. This one had been much harder with how toxic the Dark Mark was. The thing had tried to rip Lucius' arm apart, and when it hadn't succeeded, it tried to possess the strongest Wizard in the vicinity, the main attacker. He didn't even want to know what it was like living with something like that on your flesh, rooted in your soul, for decades. His own version of Horcrux had been bad enough. 

"Blast it all, Harry, can't you go a day without needing medical attention?" Sirius demanded, and Harry couldn't help but bust out laughing.


End file.
